


you taught me the courage of stars

by lydiastilinskis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Banshee Lydia Martin, Endgame Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski, Eventual Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski, Eventual Romance, F/M, FBI Agent Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin & Scott McCall Friendship, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Lydia Martin Loves Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski in Love, Mentioned Allison Argent, Mutual Pining, RIP Allison Argent, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Loves Lydia Martin, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-06-16 05:28:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 54,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15430005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lydiastilinskis/pseuds/lydiastilinskis
Summary: "She was nervous as hell — and, for some reason, seeing Stiles for the first time in a while was always a little bit jarring — but she couldn’t wait. It was going to be a weekend to remember."Stiles and Lydia have been best friends for twelve years, ever since their junior year. A wedding in Beacon Hills brings them together for the first time since Lydia became engaged one year ago and Stiles first began to distance himself from her.





	1. 32 hours before

Lydia Martin jolted awake from a dream — a dream she had been having all too regularly recently — and glanced across the bed at the person sleeping beside her. She rolled over onto her side, her hand stretching across the bed.

 

He murmured in his sleep and she inched closer to him, the time on his bedside clock reading 5 a.m.

 

“Elliot,” she whispered, her voice croaky with sleep.

 

“Hmm,” Elliot murmured in response.

 

“Can you wake up?” she whispered, prodding his side. He grunted, rolling over to her, and cracked open one eye.

 

“Lyds,” he said, turning his head to look at the time on the clock, “it’s five in the morning.”

 

“I had a bad dream again,” she said, propping herself up on the pillow with her elbow. She wanted him to care. She wanted him to roll over and tickle her side or stroke her hair until she fell asleep again, feeling safe in his arms.

 

“What about?” he asked. He _did_ look incredibly handsome lying there, even with his hair sticking up in every which direction and his eyes fluttering open and closed, sleep still upon him.

 

Lydia hesitated. She knew she couldn’t really tell him the truth — there was just no way he would believe it, after all — but she didn’t want to give him some lame, half-hearted explanation either.

 

“Werewolves,” she told him. “Alphas and banshees. A were-coyote, too.”

 

Elliot frowned at her. “Why are you dreaming about that stuff again? Anyway, I don’t know why you’re so scared.”

 

He lifted a hand, his fingers brushing against her freckled cheek. His brown eyes stared into hers, searching for the answer. She shrugged.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Well, Lydia,” Elliot replied, like she was being ridiculous. “You have these recurring nightmares about them most nights, and I always try to comfort you the best that I can. I don’t _want_ you to be scared. But … don’t you see? There’s nothing to be scared of. Werewolves, banshees, especially freaking _were-coyotes_ — they aren’t real.”

 

Lydia’s expression never wavered. How could she possibly explain? It wasn’t so much the fact that she was dreaming about werewolves that was the scary part. The scary part was what happened within the dream — and it wasn’t that they were trying to kill her.

 

She couldn’t possibly explain that, in her dreams, the werewolves were on her side. They fought together. They fought side-by-side. They killed. She killed.

 

The dreams had only just started coming back to her. It had been eight years since she’d last had those kind of nightmares.

 

“It was just …” She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just nervous for tomorrow.”

 

“Why would you dream about werewolves if you’re nervous for tomorrow?” Elliot seemed more and more confused, and his half-awake state didn’t help the situation.

 

Lydia didn’t feel like she could explain. As much as she loved her boyfriend — and she did, she really did — she always felt like a huge part of her … she could never explain to him. She would have to hide that part of her forever.

 

Elliot was easygoing and relaxed most of the time, but she didn’t know how he would react to her news that her friends were werewolves (and various other species), her town was like a beacon for supernatural creatures and, oh yes, she was a banshee.

 

A harbinger of death.

 

A wailing woman.

 

Whatever she wanted to call it, it was still the same thing.

 

She would still cause her boyfriend to run for the hills.

 

So, instead of replying, she shuffled up closer to him and laid in the crook of his arm, resting her hand on his bare chest. She waited as he fell asleep, his chest rising and falling rhythmically, before she sat up in their bed and opened the drawer in her bedside table.

 

She found the one document she kept in there, right beside her bed so she had easy access whenever she needed it.

 

It was the only thing she kept in that drawer, almost like she had carved out a special place for it and nothing else could come close to replacing it. At least, not just yet.

 

Gold writing embossed on a thick, cream card read:

 

_You are invited to witness the exchanging of vows between Noah Stilinski and Melissa McCall at one in the noon on Saturday, June thirteenth._

 

She’d had the invitation for months and had eagerly replied as soon as she could, along with her plus one. Elliot hadn’t needed to ask who Noah and Melissa were. She talked about them _constantly._ She’d talked about the wedding constantly since receiving the invitation a few months earlier, and the save the date months before that.

 

And now, the wedding was this Saturday — just one day away.

 

She was right when she’d told Elliot she was nervous. She hadn’t been to Beacon Hills in several years and going back was always strange. She always felt so nostalgic, especially whenever she walked past the high school where so much had happened, where so much had defined her.

 

She was also nervous because she was one of Melissa’s bridesmaids — in fact, she was Melissa’s maid of honour. She wanted the day to go perfectly for both Noah and Melissa, and she was partly responsible for that. She’d also spent most of the past year helping to organise the event, even from across the country she wanted to ensure everything went smoothly and perfectly.

 

She was sure it was going to be a great day. That was … if everyone behaved themselves. And she was never quite sure with Stiles if he would.

 

Lydia cast Stiles out of her mind — she spent enough time worrying about him — and shuffled off the bed, opening her suitcase she’d packed for the weekend. She slotted the invitation into the side of the case, tucking it safely away.

 

After she’d secured the invitation, she reached for her pad of paper, where she’d methodically written a detailed checklist of everything she needed to pack for the trip. She’d checked off thirty-three items, but still had a remaining nine.

 

Curiously, she reached across to where Elliot’s suitcase laid on the floor beside hers, flipping open the lid. Some underwear, a pair of jeans, a shirt and a pair of sunglasses were pretty much the only items packed away.

 

She knew that his tuxedo was hanging up on the back of their door and she added a note to the bottom of her list: _Elliot’s tuxedo_. She couldn’t be leaving _that_ behind. Luckily, Melissa had Lydia’s dress over in Beacon Hills. She’d tried it on a few months back, then posted it over to her in California so Melissa could line it up with the others.

 

It was 5:30 a.m.

 

Lydia stood up from the bed and reached for her phone, which was plugged into the wall, charging. She had three unread messages from Scott and a missed call from Malia, as well as ten unread emails from Melissa.

 

She scanned the messages from Scott first: _Stiles can’t find his tux anywhere — he swore that it was at his dad’s? But can’t find it? Do you know where it would be?_ Then, sent twelve minutes later, _Never mind. It’s at the dry cleaner’s._ Then, two minutes later, _Do you know where his black shoes are?_

 

She rolled her eyes, wondering just how pissed Scott would be if she sent him a few messages at five-thirty in the morning — she thought gleefully that it would actually be two-thirty in the morning California time — telling him that she didn’t know where the hell Stiles’s black shoes would be. How should _she_ know? She wasn’t responsible for Stiles — no matter what people seemed to think.

 

After she’d ignored Scott’s messages, she scrolled through Melissa’s emails. Each subject had been written in all capitals and each one seemed increasingly panicked, about varying things.

 

 _DOUBTS ABOUT DRESS_ , the first one said. The second one said, _CATERERS ARE STUCK IN PORTLAND!_ The third one read, _CAKE ISN’T READY!!_ and so on.

 

Lydia had started from the bottom of the unread emails and by the time she got to the most recent — the most recent — Melissa seemed to have regained composure. The email subject said: _HANDLING IT._

 

Lastly, Lydia listened to her voicemail from Malia. Luckily, Malia hadn’t wanted to speak about anything in particular. She’d just been asking when Elliot and Lydia were expecting to arrive in Beacon Hills on Friday.

 

So, she’d had emails and messages from Scott, Malia and Melissa — but nothing from Stiles. Which was weird because, most of the time, Lydia woke up to a few messages from Stiles.

 

Despite it being 5:40 a.m., Lydia shot off a quick message to Stiles. _You okay?_ she typed, before pressing send. She didn’t know what it was; she just had a niggling feeling that something was wrong.

 

Maybe that was what happened when you’d been friends with someone for over ten years.

 

Now she was awake and had started doing things, Lydia knew sleep would not come easily. Once her mind was awake, so was her body. She looked at Elliot, sleeping in bed, before she reached for her towel and tossed it over her shoulder.

 

Their flight was at 9 a.m., so they’d get into Beacon Hills at around 12:30 p.m. California time.

 

She knew she would need to wake Elliot up soon — their flight was in four hours’ time, after all — but she could allow him to sleep in for another half-hour or so. They only lived a short drive to JFK and she knew it would only take Elliot twenty minutes to throw on some clothes, run a hand through his hair and announce that he was ready for the day.

 

Until then, Lydia turned on the shower and let it run for a few seconds to warm up. She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, pulling her face tight. It had been ten years since they’d graduated high school. In the last few years, she’d started noticing herself getting older.

 

She’d needed to start wearing glasses when she was reading.

 

It was the small things but they added up, and when she went home and saw her friends, she noticed how they’d aged too.

 

This was one of the many reasons why she was immensely glad Noah and Melissa had finally started dating — almost five years ago now — and were getting married in a matter of thirty-two hours.

 

She couldn’t wait.

 

She was nervous as hell — and, for some reason, seeing Stiles for the first time in a while was always a little bit jarring — but she couldn’t wait. It was going to be a weekend to remember.

 

___________________________________

 

“Are you going to turn your phone off at any point during this weekend?” Elliot asked, glancing across at her in the car.

 

Lydia lifted her eyes from the screen of her phone — where she’d been frantically typing out a message to Melissa, informing her that they were two minutes away from the airport parking and would be on their flight within ninety minutes — to frown at him.

 

“I’m texting Melissa,” she said to him. “Just letting her know we’re on our way. I don’t want her to worry about anything this weekend.”

 

“She _will_ be worried. It’s the day before her wedding day,” Elliot said. “She’s been worried for the past six months. At least.”

 

Lydia ignored him. Elliot didn’t understand the whole wedding thing. That was what he kept referring to it as. The “whole wedding thing”. At first, she’d tried explaining it to him, but had given up eventually.

 

“You’ll regret your entire attitude to this after this weekend, you know,” she reminded him, sending the message off to Melissa and almost immediately seeing the little three dots from Melissa’s side of the conversation.

 

“Why’s that?” Elliot asked. He turned into the parking spaces allocated for long-stay.

 

“As soon as this weekend is over,” she said coyly, “I’m going to start planning _our_ wedding.”

 

“Seriously?” He pulled into a parking space and cut the engine, looking over at her.

 

A smile spread across her face at the sight of him — he was the _embodiment_ of her perfect guy. If she could write down everything she wanted in a man, it would be Elliot.

 

He worked on Wall Street and had graduated from MIT the same year as her, only his degree was in finance. They’d met six years ago when they’d sat down at the same table at the library within seconds of each other. Lydia hadn’t been willing to give the table up — it was _impossible_ to get a good table at the library and she’d been scouting for one for thirty minutes already — and neither had he.

 

They’d come to a mutual decision to both remain at the table.

 

After an hour, Elliot had bought her a coffee. She had been reluctant, but she couldn’t help but give in to conversation with him.

 

He was tall, with soft blond hair and an impeccable taste in wardrobe. He was intelligent — as intelligent as her, though it was never a competition. He _respected_ that she was just as intelligent as him. He was supportive and sweet. It turned out that they had similar interests.

 

They’d graduated college and both moved to New York, though they’d been careful not to live together immediately.

 

She’d rented an apartment with some friends from college, and so had he. Eventually, Elliot had made enough money to afford his own apartment in Manhattan, which he’d asked her to move into one year ago. Two weeks later, he’d asked her to marry him.

 

She’d said yes, and now the diamond ring he’d picked out — she’d been very impressed — sparkled on her ring finger, catching the light occasionally and always seeming to take her by surprise.

 

Elliot was perfect.

 

She was glad she’d found someone like him.

 

Lydia shrugged. “We’ve been engaged for a year — it’s probably time to start planning something. Don’t you think?”

 

Elliot nodded. “Definitely. I just … thought I sensed some apprehension before.”

 

“Apprehension?”

 

They both got out of Elliot’s Jaguar, shutting the doors. Lydia waited as Elliot opened the trunk and pulled out a couple of small cases.

 

“Yeah,” he answered, slamming the trunk door and reaching for both their cases. She hitched her purse over her shoulder as the strap began to fall down her arm, and turned around to follow after him as he began walking to the airport entrance.

 

“What do you mean?” Lydia asked.

 

“You didn’t seem to want to plan anything,” Elliot told her. “I thought perhaps there was some hesitation? I don’t know — you seem more excited about Noah and Melissa’s wedding than ours.”

 

His tone seemed jocular, but Lydia knew him well enough to know he meant it. He clearly hadn’t wanted to raise this with her, and clearly had been thinking about it for a while.

 

She reached for him, her hand brushing the inside of his arm. She tugged him to look at her, to focus on her.

 

“I’ve been busy helping Melissa with her wedding,” she said to him sincerely, “but now I want to put all my attention into _ours._ She got engaged before us. Now I can focus on ours, okay?”

 

He nodded. “Okay.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

Elliot nodded. “Absolutely. Let’s get checked in, okay?”

 

Lydia followed Elliot up to the check-in desk, where they were greeted by a friendly blonde woman. She took their passports, tagged their luggage, and they were done. They headed through to security, and once they were on the other side Lydia felt herself relax.

 

They were on their way.

 

In just six hours’ time, they’d be back in Beacon Hills. Elliot would get to meet her friends — even though they’d been together for six years, he’d never come back to Beacon Hills with her and had never met her friends; this could have been one of the many reasons why she was beside herself with nerves for the upcoming weekend — and she’d get to see everyone again.

 

She’d get to see Noah and Melissa freaking finally get married.

 

She’d get to see Scott, Malia and Kira.

 

And Stiles.

 

She would also get to see Stiles.

 

While Elliot grabbed them some breakfast, Lydia sat down on one of the airport seats and reached for her phone.

 

Melissa had replied excitedly to her message, sending her a bunch of exclamation points and a few emojis. Melissa had become more tech-savvy with Lydia’s careful tutoring, but she’d still accidentally added in the hammer emoji among a bunch of smiley faces.

 

There was also a message from Stiles on her screen. Just one word.

 

Stiles never bullshitted around in his messages — that was one thing she usually truly appreciated about him — and he was always very direct with her, but she couldn’t help but read the message with a feeling of disappointment.

 

_Yes._

 

That was what the message said. That was _it._ She’d asked him almost four hours ago whether he was okay, and he replied saying … yes. Why didn’t she feel better? More importantly, why didn’t she believe him?

 

Lydia had known Stiles since she was sixteen years old. During that time, they’d gone through so much together. Countless life or death situations. What must have been hundreds of unanswered, seemingly impossible supernatural questions. Villains. Heroes. Death. Survival — just about.

 

During that time, Lydia had come to know Stiles better than anyone. Especially after Allison died. Suddenly, Lydia had found herself without a best friend.

 

Luckily for her, Stiles had been happy to immediately and so easily step into that role. He hadn’t tried to replace Allison, not at all. He’d just been there for her.

 

He’d _always_ been there for her.

 

Even when he’d dated Malia, he’d been there for her. However, she’d found she couldn’t be there for _him_ as often. Stiles was still her go-to person for when she needed some kind of help or advice, but Stiles went to Malia. She missed being his person.

 

After Stiles and Malia broke up, things were weird between the pack for a little while. But then ... Malia started dating someone else.

 

Lydia remembered thinking that she had once again become Stiles’s go-to person. And she liked that. She valued it.

 

Stiles had been one of her best friends for over ten years now. She knew him like the back of her hand. He was her _person._ It was like they continued to come together, maybe by chance, maybe not. He was the one person she knew she could depend on and confide in for everything and anything.

 

However, in recent months … Something had changed.

 

Lydia didn’t know what it was. For the first time in her life, Lydia was stumped.

 

Stiles had started pulling away from her. He didn’t text her fifty times a day, telling her dumb joke after dumb joke. He text her three times, maximum.

 

She no longer woke up to see messages from him — sometimes he worked the night shift and would be up all through the night. She enjoyed waking up to those messages, which were usually some kind of stream-of-consciousness type thing where he rambled on about anything on his mind for hours.

 

When she called, sometimes he didn’t pick up.

  

Stiles Stilinski had been a constant in Lydia’s life for twelve years now.

 

He was like her soulmate, if soulmates existed.

 

Lydia wasn’t supposed to believe in soulmates, or destiny or fate. She was a mathematician. She believed in numbers, statistics and facts.

 

But …

 

Sometimes she couldn’t help herself. When Lydia was feeling particularly corny or sentimental, she thought that they had been _destined_ to become friends. They were _supposed_ to be friends, to be beside each other. To be inseparable. To be each other’s emotional tethers. To bring each other back from the dead.

 

She didn’t know what she’d done to change that, but she was going to use this weekend in Beacon Hills to find out. 

 

And she would do whatever it took to fix it.


	2. 28 hours before

Stiles woke up with a jolt, sitting upright in bed and blinking into the near-darkness of the room. How long had he been asleep? Was he late for work? Did he even _have_ work today?

 

No. He didn’t.

 

Because he was in Beacon Hills, not San Francisco where he lived and worked. He was in his childhood bedroom, in the bed he slept in as a teenager, and it was Friday.

 

Of course, Stiles knew that this wasn’t just _any_ Friday. It was Friday, so that meant 1) that his dad was marrying Melissa the very next day, and 2) Lydia Martin was due to arrive in town in a matter of hours.

 

It was 6:30 a.m., which meant it would be nine-thirty New York time. It was very possible that Lydia was on her flight, already on her way to California. He reached for his phone, which had been charging overnight, and scrolled through the list of notifications.

 

Messages from his dad about the wedding.

 

Messages from Scott about the wedding.

 

A missed call and voicemail from Scott. He’d listen to that later.

 

The message from Lydia wasn’t on his screen. He’d woken up about twenty minutes earlier and groggily reached for his phone, seeing her message on his screen. Since it was Lydia and she got stressed if he didn’t reply as soon as possible, he typed out a quick reply and hit send.

 

Within seconds, he was asleep again.

 

Now, reflecting on the message, he wondered if he should have gone into more detail. It was no secret to _him_ that he’d slowly been pulling away from her in the last few months — he thought she was beginning to notice, too. Who was he kidding?

 

It was _Lydia._ Of course she’d noticed.

 

Even though it was only six-thirty in the morning, he could hear movement from downstairs. He had a feeling that Melissa and Noah would already be awake and running errands ready for the big day, so he pushed back his sheets, unplugged his phone, and headed downstairs.

 

He wasn’t surprised to see his father in the kitchen, making breakfast. He _was_ surprised to see his father wearing running clothes. Melissa stood just beside her husband-to-be, making coffee and also wearing running clothes.

 

“Can somebody explain what is going on here?” Stiles asked.

 

Both his dad and Melissa turned around to look at him.

 

“Neither of us could sleep — we’re too excited and nervous,” Noah explained, flipping over a rasher of bacon in the frying pan he was attending. “We decided we’d burn some energy by going for a run.”

 

“Did it work?”

 

“It made us very hungry and in desperate need of caffeine,” Melissa replied. “Coffee?”

 

Stiles nodded. “Please.”

 

“You’re up early, son,” Noah commented.

 

Stiles thought about why he’d jolted awake so quickly. It had just happened out of nowhere — had he had a bad dream? He didn’t think so. Some nights he just woke up, sweating and uncomfortable like he’d just woken from a nightmare, but he couldn’t actually remember the nightmare.

 

It had been happening more and more so in the last few weeks.

 

“I woke up,” Stiles explained briefly, “and couldn’t get back to sleep. Where’s Scott?”

 

“Back at his house,” Melissa answered. She carried over three cups of hot, steaming coffee to the table and placed them down.

 

Stiles reached for one and brought it closer to him appreciatively, cupping his hands around it.

 

“He left?”

 

“Lydia is staying with him tonight, so he’s gone to get his house ready for guests,” Melissa said very slowly. She glanced at Noah for back-up, but he was still frying his bacon and steadfastly facing the wall.

 

Stiles narrowed his eyes curiously. “Why is Lydia staying at Scott’s house rather than with us?”

 

“Oh, well, you know,” Melissa replied, clearing her throat. She waved her hands in the air as if she was swatting away his questions. “Your father suggested it, actually.”

 

“He did?” Stiles asked. “Dad, did you?”

 

Noah turned around, sighing. “She’s bringing Elliot. I just thought …”

 

Stiles waited, raising an eyebrow. “Thought what?”

 

“I just thought it might be _easier_ for everybody if they stay at Scott’s over the weekend,” Noah explained, shrugging. “Melissa is staying at Scott’s tonight — this way, she’s with all her bridesmaids in the morning.”

 

“But what about … Elliot?” It still felt very odd to Stiles to say his name out loud. Maybe that was because he’d avoided doing for so long, it almost felt more natural to just not refer to him at all.

 

“Elliot is Lydia’s plus one,” Melissa said, “and he doesn’t know anyone else here. He’ll obviously be staying with Lydia too.”

 

Stiles didn’t really have an argument for that. He looked out of the kitchen window, wondering what it would be like when he saw Lydia for the first time in a year and she’d be standing there with a man on her arm and a ring on her finger.

 

Lydia had tried to organise for Stiles and her fiancé to meet several times in the years they’d been together.

 

Stiles remembered when Lydia had first told him about Elliot. She’d called him up after their third date and, in typical Lydia fashion, played it down. She told him that she’d met someone, that he was “okay” and she was “just having fun.”

 

Stiles couldn’t remember exactly when Elliot had become a serious thing for Lydia — an actual person she might want to spend the rest of her life with.

 

He didn’t know when they’d moved in together — he just knew that they had. He couldn’t even recall the day they’d become engaged, or how long ago it was — he just knew that they were.

 

He’d been Lydia’s person for as long as he could remember, but he couldn’t fill Allison’s place here. He couldn’t talk to Lydia about how Elliot had proposed. He couldn’t even bring Elliot up — every time he came up in conversation, he found himself feeling uncomfortable and needing to change the subject immediately.

 

He didn’t even know the guy and already he couldn’t stand him.

 

So, every time Lydia had suggested she introduce Stiles and Elliot, Stiles had been very careful to make plans for that day or that weekend. He’d made excuses up for so long that Lydia had eventually stopped trying.

 

Unfortunately, his father’s wedding provided the perfect opportunity to Lydia to come home and bring Elliot along with her. Noah and Melissa would never _not_ invite Lydia — she was like a daughter to them — and, since everyone else got plus ones, they’d had to give her one too.

 

Stiles understood that. He understood why Elliot would come. He understood the entire thing.

 

He just … He hadn’t seen Lydia in a year. Even though he’d been pushing her away, he’d still been looking forward to the moment when the whole pack would be reunited again after so long.

 

Now, they’d be reunited and there’d be some stranger in the mix. They wouldn’t be able to talk truthfully and openly about high school, or their friendships with each other. Their conversation would be lacking because Lydia’s fiancé would be there and Stiles presumed he didn’t know a damn thing about Lydia’s past.

 

At that moment, his father jogged him out of his thoughts by setting a plate down in front of him.

 

“You okay, Stiles?” Noah asked, sounding concerned.

 

He picked up the fork in front of him and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just zoned out.”

 

“Welcome back,” Melissa said with a smile. “I’ve got a few errands for you to run this morning, if that’s okay.”

 

Stiles nodded. He’d been expecting this. It was one of the reasons why his dad had been so keen for Stiles to come home a few days before the wedding: so he could run around for them all day and organise the things they hadn’t had the chance to yet.

 

“Sure,” he answered. He didn’t mind helping out. He knew Lydia had been really involved and had practically helped plan the whole thing.

 

A few errands was basically nothing in comparison to everything Lydia had done for Noah and Melissa.

 

Melissa slid a piece of paper across the table. “Here’s your checklist. Scott has one too, so maybe you could get together and collaborate on some?”

 

Stiles picked up the checklist, scanning it. He could see a few items on it that included going into town, so he picked up his phone and text Scott. He asked him when he’d be in town. Scott texted back almost immediately with a time — why he was up at 7 a.m. too, Stiles didn’t know — and Stiles finished his breakfast so he could go and get ready for the day.

 

___________________________________

 

 

“We should probably collect the flowers last,” Scott said thoughtfully, comparing Stiles’s checklist with his. “In case they wilt in the heat of the car.”

 

Stiles nodded. “Have you noticed how some of the items on our checklists are the same?”

 

“I have,” Scott replied, then added, “It’s almost like we aren’t trusted.”

 

“Almost,” Stiles answered, grinning at his best friend.

 

They began walking through the town. They had to pick up the table decorations from a small party store on Main Street, confirm that the caterers had managed to make it back from Portland, among other things. They’d already ticked off three items, but seemed to be making slow progress.

 

It was almost 10 a.m. They had another five items between them to tick off the list.

 

“What’s up with you, anyway?” Scott asked, frowning at Stiles. “We’re about to become _actual_ brothers and you don’t seem particularly happy about any of it.”

 

“I know,” Stiles kicked up a stone in his path. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “It’s just this whole Lydia thing.”

 

“What Lydia thing?”

 

“She’s coming back,” Stiles told him. “ _Today_.”

 

“And?”

 

“We haven’t talked properly in months, Scott — I haven’t seen her in over a year,” he answered with a sigh. “She’s … She’s engaged.”

 

“Ah,” Scott smiled. “ _That’s_ what this is about. You’re jealous.”

 

“No,” Stiles replied sharply, holding up a hand, “ _no_. That isn’t it. We’ve known Lydia for over ten years — we’ve never known her to be _engaged_.”

 

“That’s correct.”

 

“Don’t you think it’s all kind of sudden?”

 

Scott shrugged. “They’ve been together since college.”

 

“Exactly!” Stiles agreed wholeheartedly. “In the grand scheme of things, college was _not_ that long ago.”

 

“Stiles, we graduated six years ago,” Scott said flatly.

 

“Okay, well … We haven’t even _met_ the guy. Doesn’t that strike you as weird?”

 

“You were the one who refused to meet him every time Lydia attempted to arrange something between all of us,” Scott pointed out. “Besides, since when does Lydia need our approval to date someone? He must be pretty special if Lydia has agreed to marry him. We should trust her judgement.”

 

“Jesus, whose side are you on?”

 

Scott stopped outside the store Noah and Melissa had hired to cater for them, reaching for the door. “I didn’t realise that there _were_ sides.”

 

Stiles followed him into the store, hating how impartial he was at times. He knew that being impartial was an important trait for the pack, but Scott was his _best friend_. And almost his stepbrother! Couldn’t Scott side with Stiles just _once_?

 

“Hello,” Scott greeted the person working behind the counter. “We’re here for the Stilinski-McCall wedding. We were wondering if you …”

 

Stiles reached for his own checklist, which he’d tucked into his back pocket on his way over. While Scott was figuring out the catering situation, Stiles could probably check off a few more things.

 

He didn’t bother letting Scott know. He just left the store and headed to the party store, which was across the street.

 

After picking up the decorations, he ticked it off the list. He scanned down further and stopped by the bakery, where he asked when the cake would be ready for collection. They’d had some trouble with the cake the day before, but the bakery seemed to have gotten things under control now.

 

They told him tomorrow morning, 9 a.m. sharp. He jotted it down on the paper beside the item, and checked it off.

 

He headed to the dry cleaners, picking up his dad’s tuxedo, as well as his and Scott’s. They were both Noah’s best men.

 

By the time Stiles returned to the catering store, he’d checked off a huge chunk of items and felt accomplished — if slightly weighed down by everything he’d accumulated. He headed back inside to find Scott, just as he turned away from the counter.

 

“They’re four hours away,” Scott explained, seeing Stiles arrive. “So everything should be fine for time. If not, they’ll send other people — they have back-up staff ready to go. You look like you’ve been busy.”

 

“I need to put these things in your car,” Stiles answered.

 

The two of them headed out to where Scott had parked. Stiles shoved everything into the trunk of the car, making sure he didn’t trap any of the balloons and pop them.

 

“Flowers,” Stiles announced. “Then we’re done.”

 

“Right,” Scott sounded doubtful, but Stiles marched on ahead anyway. Scott stayed outside while Stiles went into the store, but he appeared just as the flowers were ready to be collected.

 

“Actually, Stiles,” Scott said from the doorway. “We can pick those up on the way back. I don’t want them to wilt.”

 

“But we’re finished.”

 

“Not quite,” Scott replied. “There’s something I need to do on my own checklist and, well, since we came in my car, you have to come too. I can just go back and collect the flowers later.”

 

“How long will it take?” Stiles asked. “I can just wait here.”

 

“About an hour?”

 

“An _hour_?” Stiles asked, frowning at Scott. “Where are we going?”

 

Scott didn’t answer. He led the way out to the car and got inside. Stiles followed him, bucking his seatbelt in the passenger seat. He turned on the air con, looking over at Scott.

 

“There’s nothing else on the list,” Stiles said, scanning his again. “Just the flowers.”

 

“Actually,” Scott said, easing the car into drive and pulling away from the sidewalk. “We’re going to the airport.”

 

“The airport?” Stiles frowned. “Why do we need to go the—?”

 

He stopped.

 

Scott grimaced, gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white and Stiles thought for a second he would pull the entire thing off.

 

“I’m sorry, Stiles,” he said, “I didn’t want to say anything to you because I knew you wouldn’t come. But Lydia asked me weeks ago if I could pick her up. I didn’t know you’d _insist_ on coming in my car.”

 

“Maybe if you’d told me before, I wouldn’t have insisted,” Stiles said. “Why did she ask _you_ , not me?”

 

Scott shrugged. “Apparently, you’ve been distant and annoying. That’s a direct quote, by the way.”

 

Stiles sighed and looked out of the window. He didn’t want to have this conversation. He didn’t want to have it now with Scott, or, inevitably, with Lydia later. And he knew that was what would happen.

 

That was another reason why Stiles felt apprehensive to see her. He knew the moment they saw each other, Lydia would express her frustration — or possibly anger — with him for pushing her away.

 

He knew it was coming.

 

He deserved it, but that didn’t mean he wanted it.

 

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles muttered. “She’s angry with me.”

 

Scott didn’t bother disagreeing, or trying to remain neutral for the sake of being the leader of the pack and just a good friend. He just nodded. “I think so.”

 

“Like, really … pissed.”

 

“Well,” Scott merged onto the highway, shrugging. “It _is_ Lydia we’re talking about. But you two bicker about everything — does it really matter?”

 

“This is different. I’ve been going out of my way to ignore her millions of messages and calls,” Stiles answered, “I just can’t think of her being with someone, and it all just feels weird.”

 

Scott said nothing. He’d spent the past twelve years attempting to figure out what was going on between Stiles Stilinski and Lydia Martin, and had not yet succeeded. Considering he knew them better than he knew anyone, he figured this had to mean that they were _impossible_ to figure out.

 

Scott didn’t think even _they_ knew what was going on. Sometimes, what seemed most obvious to others, was the _least_ obvious for those actually concerned.

 

By now, he’d learned to just leave it alone.

 

They were adults now. They could figure it out themselves.

 

“I guess I’ll just have to apologise and tell her I’ve been busy with work, or something,” Stiles said finally. “You think she’ll believe that?”

 

“Not a chance,” Scott replied.

 

“With any luck, she’ll be too busy thinking about the wedding to worry about me,” he continued, trying to convince himself more than anything.

 

“You know _that’s_ unlikely,” Scott reminded him carefully. “Lydia always worries about you.”

 

Stiles reluctantly agreed. He’d be stupid not to. Lydia had been his best friend for twelve years and Stiles thought she — along with Scott — knew him better than he knew himself. She always seemed to know what was on his mind, what worried him, scared him, frustrated him, made him laugh.

 

Even better, she always knew how to help. She always knew the right thing to say — or when to say nothing at all.

 

Sometimes Stiles looked back on himself in his freshman year and sophomore year, back when Lydia Martin was just the girl of his dreams and he didn’t think he had a chance in this lifetime of even  _talking_ to her. Now, he considered her one of his best friends.

 

Perhaps even his soulmate — of the non-romantic kind, of course.

 

He knew that they weren’t destined for each other in _that_ kind of way. _That_ had never happened — not after their countless life or death situations; not after the way he’d felt broken in the animal clinic after they saved her from Eichen House, thinking that she was going to die; not after the way she’d looked at him when she’d finally opened her eyes.

 

It had never happened.

 

Fate had never seemed to work for them.

 

So, Stiles had to put his faith in their friendship. He didn’t want to believe in destiny, fate and all that crap, but he _did_ believe that he and Lydia had somehow been … thrown together for a purpose.

 

When Stiles looked at Lydia now, he couldn’t believe he’d once been that scrawny kid, hopelessly in love with her. Well, he _could_ believe it. She was still incredible.

 

It just didn’t seem real that he could be best friends with her. With _the_ Lydia Martin.

 

“I know,” he agreed with Scott, reluctant to admit he was right.

 

The second he said this out loud, his phone buzzed with a text. His heart lifted as he thought it might be Lydia, before he realised that she was probably still on her flight.

 

He looked at the screen, even frowning a little bit as he saw the name: _LAURA_. It took Stiles a few seconds longer than it should have to remember the name of his date to his dad’s wedding.

 

Laura.

 

Of course.

 

He’d met her a few months ago when he’d been visiting Beacon Hills for a weekend. He’d actually met her while he was putting gas in the car. She couldn’t fit the cap back onto her car after filling hers up, and — a little embarrassedly — asked for his help.

 

They’d started talking and had exchanged phone numbers.

 

Even though Stiles had gone back to San Francisco the next day, they kept in touch. Stiles didn’t know whether it would be romantic or even amount to anything at all, but he knew Lydia would be bringing a plus one — knew _most_ of his friends would be bringing a plus one — and somehow felt like he couldn’t show up alone.

 

So, on a whim, he invited her.

 

And she said yes.

“That isn’t Lydia, is it?” Scott asked, sounding panicked as he eased on the gas. “They land at twelve-thirty, then have to get through customs _and_ collect their luggage. It’s only twelve now. Shit, Lydia will kill me if I’m late —”

 

“It isn’t Lydia,” Stiles interrupted before Scott drove himself crazy. “It’s Laura.”

 

“Laura?” Scott frowned. “The girl from the gas station?”

 

“Yeah,” Stiles scanned her message, then quickly tapped out a reply. “She’s just asking me what time the ceremony starts tomorrow.”

 

“Right … Remind me, why are you bringing a stranger to our parents’ wedding? You barely even know this girl.”

 

“Hey, she’s nice.”

 

“What do you know about her?”

 

“She’s … blonde,” Stiles said, desperately trying to remember. “She has a dog. You know what, none of that matters. That’s what this weekend is for — to get to know her.”

 

Scott shook his head, clearly unconvinced. He signalled and merged into the lane which exited the highway to the airport.

 

“All I’m saying is … you don’t even know this girl,” Scott said. “I just thought you’d want to spend time with all of us at the wedding, rather than someone you don’t even know.”

 

“Hey, I have the rest of the weekend with all of you,” Stiles reminded him with a smile. “You’ll be so sick of me that you’ll be begging to find my date.”

 

Scott laughed. “You have a point.”

“Knew it,” Stiles said.

 

Scott made the turning off for the airport, heading for the pick-up point. They waited there for a few minutes, but then Scott pulled out of the space they’d secured and headed for another parking space which allowed them to get out of the car and go inside.

 

Stiles hesitated. “Maybe I’ll wait out here.”

 

“She will be even _more_ pissed if you do that,” Scott said, getting out of the car.

 

It took Stiles a few seconds, but he got out of the car and jogged to catch up with Scott. His stomach turned over at the thought of seeing Lydia again. He wasn’t even thinking about the guy she’d be with, he was just thinking about seeing _her_.

 

He knew her well enough to know she’d be furious with him — or, at the very least, heading in that direction.

 

He was kind of dreading that — Lydia being _pissed_ was not something he liked to experience; it was not enjoyable — but he also couldn’t deny the feeling he felt at the bottom of his stomach. A mix of nerves and excitement.

 

He would finally be able to see his best friend again, after so long apart.

 

Scott led the way into the airport and they hung around arrivals, counting down the time. The flight from New York was scheduled to land on time, and they watched as it showed that the flight had arrived.

 

The closer Stiles came to seeing her, the more he felt like he might throw up.

 

“Scott,” he said, digging his hands into his pockets, “I’m nervous.”

 

Scott said mildly, “I’m not surprised.”

 

“That is _not_ helping,” Stiles pointed out flatly.

 

The doors to the arrivals area opened and a few bleary-eyed, exhausted-looking people started sloping through from the New York flight. Stiles wished he had a sign for Lydia, even if it just meant having something to do and hold in his hands.

 

Part of him seriously wanted to consider turning around and walking back to the car, but before he could make a move, the doors opened and he saw her.

 

That strawberry-blonde hair, those green eyes, the loose-fitting T-shirt paired with a plaid skirt, the way she was laughing at something, her hand flying to her mouth to cover her mouth, to stifle the laugh …

 

She looked exactly as she had a year earlier. He was grateful that she hadn’t changed a thing. He liked her just the way she was, the way he remembered her.

 

And then the guy followed her.

 

Stiles didn’t even bother looking at him. He just didn’t care about him. He wasn’t interested.

 

He watched as Lydia spotted Scott first, her face lighting up at the sight of him. She tapped the guy’s arm, drawing his attention to Scott, just before her gaze flickered over to Stiles.

 

He offered her a hopeful smile and a small wave.

 

The smile on Lydia’s face slid right away, and instead she looked, as Stiles had predicted, furious.


	3. 24 hours before

Lydia couldn’t believe that he was there.

 

 _There._ At the airport. Waiting for her. _Waving_ at her.

 

She felt her joy at seeing Scott waiting for them melt away, and it was replaced with _fury_ when she saw who was standing beside him.

 

She walked right up to him.

 

“Lydia —” Stiles began.

 

“Don’t say a word to me, Stiles,” she snapped. “I am not ready to listen to it right now.”

 

She hugged Scott, introduced them both to Elliot, and Scott reached for her case. She caught Stiles looking at her, but she refused to look back at him. She was furious. She hadn’t realised just how angry she was at him until she’d seen him there, with that stupid hopeful smile that she usually fell for.

 

She knew she wouldn’t be able to stay mad at him for long, but she planned to wait it out for as long as she could. Maybe she wanted to fix whatever seemed to have gone wrong between them in the last few months, but she could afford to spend a few of the weekend’s hours being angry with him.

 

The four of them got into Scott’s car. Stiles offered her the passenger seat but she wasn’t quite sure how Elliot would feel sitting in the back with Stiles. So she took the back, alongside Elliot.

 

“What’s up with you, Lyds?” Elliot asked, his voice low and laced with concern.

 

“Nothing,” she replied tensely, snapping her seatbelt into place. She spoke up, knowing that Elliot and Scott didn’t deserve to be punished for Stiles’s idiotic and childish actions. “So, how are you, Scott?”

 

“Good,” Scott replied, sounding nervous. He glanced across at Stiles. “What about you, Lydia?”

 

“Great,” Lydia answered. She didn’t know what else to say.

 

She knew that she’d put that silence there, but she hated the fact that she wasn’t talking to Stiles. Besides, with Elliot in the car, what could she say to him?

 

“Stiles,” she casually enquired, “why have you been ignoring most of my messages for the past four months?”

 

Elliot sucked in his breath, looking out of the window at the passing Californian scenery, while Lydia waited for Stiles’s reply.

 

To her surprise, he turned around in his seat so he looked right at her. He fixed her with a look — and she knew many of his looks. Many of them. This one was his smug look.

 

“So you _are_ talking to me?” he asked, grinning at her.

 

“Stiles,” Scott sighed from the driver’s seat, shaking his head. “Bad move.”

 

“No, I mean,” Stiles continued, “Lydia said she wasn’t talking to me. It’s been eighteen minutes. That’s _got_ to be some kind of record.”

 

Lydia narrowed her eyes at him, pursing her lips to show him just how unimpressed she was. _She_ could give _him_ a look too.

 

“Yes,” she answered slowly, “because I can’t sit here in the car with you for an hour in silence. So, I’m giving you a chance to explain yourself.”

 

“I’ve been busy,” he explained.

 

“ _Busy_?” she asked, rolling her eyes. “You have  _got_ to be kidding me.”

 

“Can we not talk about this right now?” Stiles asked.

 

“Stiles,” she answered, sighing.

 

She shook her head, not knowing what else to say. Not knowing how else she could convey just how hurt she was.

 

It was like he didn’t want to be her friend anymore and Lydia didn’t know if she could live in a world where Stiles Stilinski wasn’t her friend.

 

She spent the rest of the ride back to Beacon Hills in silence. Scott and Stiles made conversation and Scott asked Elliot a couple of questions. But Lydia didn’t say a word. They drove past the WELCOME TO BEACON HILLS sign and she was glad the drive was almost over.

 

“I’ll take you to your dad’s,” Scott said to Stiles. “And drop you off there. Lydia, Elliot, we’ll go back to mine first so you can drop your things off.”

 

“Sounds great, thanks,” Elliot said from beside her, sounding too cheerful. He was clearly trying to make up for Lydia’s quiet and sullen behaviour, but she didn’t have the energy to pretend that she was okay with Stiles.

 

Once they reached the Stilinski house, Stiles got out of the car. He looked at Scott and Scott looked back. Lydia knew that particular look meant something between them, but she didn’t know what.

 

As soon as Stiles started walking up the pathway to his dad’s house, she felt herself relax a little bit more as the tension slipped away from her. Out of sight, out of mind. Just about.

 

Thankfully, Scott didn’t try to talk about Stiles in front of Elliot. Scott had this kind of innate ability to always understand — without needing to ask, or question it at all — exactly when to talk about something and when not to.

 

They pulled into the driveway of Scott’s house and all got out of the car. Elliot reached for their bags, thanking Scott for the ride over, and Scott locked the car behind them.

 

“You want to talk about it?” Scott murmured to her as they walked up to his house.

 

“Not really,” Lydia replied, her jaw tight.

 

Scott nodded and didn’t press the issue. They walked inside and Scott started making coffee. Elliot complimented him on his house, Scott asked about their Manhattan apartment.

 

“It’s great,” Elliot replied enthusiastically. There was almost nothing he loved more than talking about his apartment — it was his pride and joy. “You can see the skyline from the window — this huge window that stretches the entire width of the apartment. It’s great. You should come and visit soon, we’d love to have you.”

 

Scott nodded, glancing over at Lydia. “Let’s do it.”

 

She forced herself to smile back at him, knowing that he was trying and it wasn’t fair to come into his house with a giant black cloud over her head, but the whole Stiles situation still nagged at her.

 

Scott passed her a cup of coffee, his eyes searching hers for the answers to questions she wasn’t sure she wanted to answer. Or _could_ answer.

 

“So, when will I get to meet everyone else?” Elliot asked, breaking the silence in the room.

 

“I think a few people are coming over here later on,” Scott told him, leaning up against the counter and clasping his cup of coffee in his hands. “I was going to cook. Kira’s bringing over some wine, Malia’s bringing over some vodka.”

 

“And Stiles?” Lydia asked.

 

“Beer,” Scott replied, without missing a beat.

 

Elliot looked between Scott and Lydia. Lydia could guess that Elliot was trying to work out what kind of a strange friendship group he’d walked into, where everyone seemed mad at each other and nobody actually said what they meant.

 

Lydia wanted to tell him things weren’t usually like this, but she figured she’d tell him later when they were alone.

 

“I think I’ll take our bags,” Elliot said. “Where are we sleeping, Scott?”

 

“Upstairs, on the left,” Scott told him. “Do you want some help?”

 

“No,” Elliot reached for the bags. “You guys catch up. I won’t be long.”

Elliot left the room and Lydia shot him a small smile as he passed her, grateful that he’d guessed she needed some time with Scott and there were certain things she didn’t want to — or couldn’t — talk about with him there. Maybe that would freak out some fiancés, but that was all part of Elliot’s easygoing nature.

 

“So,” Scott said, once Elliot was gone. “I had a feeling you’d be pissed at Stiles, but not this pissed.”

 

“He hasn’t talked to me properly in _months_ , Scott,” Lydia replied. “What am I supposed to do? Hug him? Forgive him? Hold hands and sing songs around a campfire?”

 

“Okay,” Scott said, frowning, “now you’re sounding like Stiles. How about … Let him explain?”

 

She narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Why don’t _you_ tell me?”

 

“I don’t know Stiles’s explanation.”

 

“Stop lying to me, Scott, he tells you _everything_ — some may argue too much,” Lydia pointed out. She reached for her coffee, which was on the kitchen island, and looked at the milky contents. “Is he mad at me for something? I just … I keep going round and round in my head, trying to figure out what I’ve done wrong, or what’s happened. I can’t think of anything.”

 

Scott sighed. Loudly. “He should be the one to explain, I don’t know enough about it and, honestly, I’m staying out of it. You should talk to Stiles.”

 

“Well, that’s the problem. I don’t _want_ to talk to Stiles,” Lydia muttered. “I’m mad at him for being mad at me.”

 

“Lydia,” Scott reasoned.

 

“I know, I know. I’m being immature,” she said. “Look, Stiles and I will figure it out. We always do, right?”

 

Scott nodded. “You do. You always do.”

 

“So, we’ll do that again. As always.” She sighed. “Right now, though, I’m meeting Melissa for coffee. We’re going over last-minute wedding things in preparation for tomorrow. Could you keep Elliot entertained for me?”

 

“Entertained?” Scott repeated.

 

“Just do something to keep him busy while I meet with Melissa,” she told him. “He can’t come to the bridesmaids’ meeting.”

 

“I guess not.”

 

She tried to drink as much of her coffee as she could before leaving, even though it was still hot and burned her throat.

 

Elliot came downstairs, seeming apprehensive, and looked relieved when he walked into the kitchen to find Scott and Lydia discussing the upcoming wedding.

 

“Mom’s been stressed for months,” Scott said. “Thank God it’s tomorrow. I honestly thought this day would never come.”

 

“Me too,” Lydia agreed distractedly as she looked down at her phone. She had several incoming messages, flashing up on her screen one after the other, and they were all from Melissa. “She’s texting me now. I should go. You two will be okay?”

 

Scott nodded easily, and Elliot smiled.

 

“We might go over to the Stilinskis’,” Scott said.

 

Lydia pretended like she wasn’t absolutely terrified of what it might mean if Elliot hung out with Stiles for a couple of hours, and just smiled with ease. She reached for her purse and kissed Elliot’s cheek.

 

“Sounds great,” she said. “I’ll check in later when I’ve finished up with Melissa. See you soon.”

She left the house, feeling relief when she stepped outside and was by herself. She didn’t want to think about Stiles — about their friendship, about why he’d ignored her, about why she was so mad at him now — she focused on the wedding instead.

 

It took twenty minutes to walk to town and find the small coffee place Melissa had suggested they meet. The coffeehouse hadn’t been in Beacon Hills the last time she’d been there, and she looked around the modern building with curiosity, feeling … _weird_ about the fact that she wasn’t in Beacon Hills but it kept changing while she was gone. She’d kind of expected it to wait for her.

 

She hadn’t been back in a few years because her banshee abilities felt stronger here. She felt _more_ here. She couldn’t fight it, control it, suppress it as well here. It was like everything was magnified.

 

She didn’t want to think about the reason why she’d been dreaming about fighting. She wanted it to be just that: a dream. A nightmare.

 

Not the truth. Not a prediction. Not a warning.

 

All Lydia wanted was a weekend at home without thinking about being a banshee.

 

She opened the door to the coffeehouse and spotted Melissa immediately. She’d bagged a table over by the window and waved when she saw Lydia.

 

“Lydia!” She stood up and the two women hugged. “I can’t believe you’re here in Beacon Hills! How was the flight?”

 

“Long,” Lydia replied, “and uncomfortable. But I’m happy to be here.”

 

“Scott and Stiles picked you up from the airport?” Melissa asked.

 

Lydia nodded. She hadn’t told Melissa that Stiles had been pulling away from her. Melissa had asked Lydia to be her maid of honour because they’d known each other for over ten years and Lydia was like a daughter to her.

 

Although Lydia knew she could go to Melissa with her problems with Stiles, she also knew Melissa was incredibly busy with the wedding and — what was worse — she was _marrying_ Stiles’s father.

 

Lydia didn’t want to confide in Melissa about Stiles pushing her away for whatever reason, for Melissa to tell Noah. She didn’t want Stiles to think that she’d told his freaking parents on him. If she told Melissa, she wanted to confide in her as friends — not as a way to get to Stiles.

 

So, like a lot of things, Lydia kept it to herself.

 

The one person she would _normally_ tell this kind of thing to … was the person who was causing the problem.

 

“Uh-huh,” Lydia nodded, her voice high-pitched and unconvincing.

 

“Lydia, what’s wrong?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You’re acting strange,” Melissa told her. “And you won’t look at me.”

 

Lydia looked at her. “I’m going to get a coffee.”

 

“You don’t have to,” Melissa said quickly. “Malia’s already in the line. I asked her to order you a soy latte and Kira a cappuccino.”

 

Lydia glanced over at the line, where she noticed Malia queueing. She hadn’t even seen her before, but Malia turned around — she’d probably heard them talking about her — and waved. A few seconds later, the door to the coffeehouse opened and Kira walked in.

 

“So,” Melissa pressed on. “Stiles?”

 

“What?”

 

“I told you, you’re not acting normal,” she said, “and it can’t be _Scott_. He’s Scott, for God’s sake. No, it has to be Stiles. What’s happening between you two?”

 

At that moment, Kira pulled out a chair at their table and sank down into it.

 

“Hi,” she said. “What have I missed?”

 

“We were just going to talk about the wedding —”

 

“Stiles and Lydia,” Melissa told Kira.

 

“What _about_ Stiles and Lydia? Has something happened? Like, _something_?”

 

“Will you two stop it?” Lydia rolled her eyes. “There’s nothing going on between Stiles and me. He’s just … He’s being weird.”

 

“Are we talking about Stiles?” Malia asked, arriving with the coffees. She handed Lydia her latte, Kira her cappuccino, and Melissa a skinny latte. Malia pulled out a chair and sat down in it, frowning. “Stiles is _always_ weird. What’s new?”

 

“He’s not talking to me,” Lydia admitted, shrugging.

 

“Really?” Malia asked. “That is weird.”

 

“I know,” Lydia agreed, allowing her thoughts to drift away and focus on Stiles for a few seconds. But then she reminded herself that she was still mad at him — she was furious — and she didn’t _want_ to be thinking about him, or to be concerned about him.

 

“But that doesn’t matter right now. What _matters_ is the reason we’re all here: the wedding! This is a meeting to organise anything we haven’t done.”

 

She reached inside her purse and pulled out a binder, which she’d been using for the past year to keep track of everything about Melissa and Noah’s wedding. It had taken her hours, but looking through it and the organisation of it relaxed her.

 

“Actually, Scott and Stiles checked off a bunch of things this morning,” Melissa told them. “The cake needs to be collected tomorrow morning at nine; the suits have been picked up from the dry cleaners’; Scott text me about twenty minutes ago, telling me he’s picked up the flowers.”

 

“What about your dress?”

 

A shadow of doubt crossed Melissa’s face. “There was a mild panic yesterday, but it’s okay. I was just being overdramatic.”

 

Lydia glanced down at the first page in her binder. She had a checklist — which she’d spent an hour of the flight to California forming — of everything she needed to talk to Melissa about and all the last-minute things they needed to.

 

The fact that Scott and Stiles had completed most of the things on her list caused Lydia to feel a little irked. She couldn’t even explain why.

 

“What about the caterers? They were stuck in Portland?”

 

“They should be back in time — Scott checked earlier.” Melissa sat back, smiling. “Lydia, I think we’re ready.”

 

“Ready?” Lydia repeated. “Surely there’s something we need to be doing.”

 

Melissa shook her head and Lydia found herself clutching at her binder, trying to think of _something._ She was avoiding going back to Scott’s house and seeing the boys.

 

“What are the plans for tonight?” she asked.

 

“We’re all having dinner,” Kira told her. “Scott’s cooking this great meal he learned off a cookery show. It’s delicious — that’s at Scott’s house tonight.”

 

“Then, it’s an early night for everyone,” Melissa informed them all. “We’re all getting up at the crack of dawn tomorrow to start getting ready. The hair and makeup artists are arriving at eight-thirty and the photographer will be there by eight.”

 

“Right,” Lydia said, glancing around the table. “So, there’s … really nothing else to do?”

 

“Nope,” Malia replied. “Which is for the best, really, because I have a date in fifteen minutes.”

 

Kira nodded. “I should get back to the hospital. I’m covering a shift this afternoon so that I could get the weekend off. Are you guys okay here?”

 

Lydia and Melissa nodded as the two other women collected their things, said their goodbyes, and left the coffeehouse together.

 

Lydia took a sip of her coffee, wondering what had just happened, when she felt Melissa’s eyes on her. Melissa knew her well and she’d known her for a long time — just as long as Scott and Stiles had known her. Melissa knew when something was up.

 

“Lydia, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine — but I really think you should, at the very least, talk to Stiles. You know exactly what he’s like.”

 

“I do,” she answered, “trust me. I do.”

 

The fact that Lydia knew Stiles so well was only adding to her confusion. That was because, no matter how well she knew him, she couldn’t figure out what had happened. What had gone wrong? They hadn’t had a colossal fight and never made up. Lydia would have remembered that.

 

Besides, they bickered _all the freaking time_.

 

It wasn’t unusual for them to fight, then make-up just a few minutes later when they could no longer be bothered to ignore each other. They’d never gone this long without really speaking to each other, and Lydia found herself getting more frustrated and hurt than angry.

 

She didn’t know what she had done.

 

“I know I need to talk to him,” she said, staring down into her coffee. “I just don’t want to talk to him when he’s being such a baby about it all. Which he is, currently.”

 

Melissa nodded thoughtfully, then said, “You’d better make up before the wedding tomorrow. I won’t have my maid of honour and Noah’s best man fighting.”

 

Lydia sat in thought for a few seconds. She knew Melissa wouldn’t mind if her mind wandered a little. It was just the same thoughts running around her head that had been for the last few months: what was going _on_? Stiles was her _best friend_. He had been for years.

 

She finished the rest of her coffee as quickly as she could. “Is it okay if I go?”

 

Melissa smiled. “I’ll give you a ride. Where are we going?”

 

Lydia gathered her purse and got to her feet. “The Stilinskis’.”


	4. 22 hours before

Stiles hated everything about this day so far.

 

This day was supposed to be filled with excitement, love, family and friends. Instead, he felt consumed by bitterness, trepidation and regret.

 

And everyone surrounding him knew it. Enough that they’d left him alone in his old bedroom, where he could wallow by himself. He missed Lydia. He just … he just missed her.

 

Images of her face when she’d seen him at the airport kept flashing through his mind. She’d looked furious at first, of course, but her anger had masked an emotion Stiles knew was also in there: hurt.

 

Lydia liked to think of herself as strong, untouchable, unable to affect in any way shape or form. She liked to think that she was hard and emotionless. Stiles knew that she was strong — of course she was! The amount she’d gone through in the twelve years he’d known her was enough to beat anybody down, but Lydia conquered every problem thrown her way.

 

But she _wasn’t_ emotionless.

 

She felt things, he knew she did.

 

He just hadn’t thought, for some reason, that she’d feel any way _hurt_ that he hadn’t been as much of a friend as he usually was to her. He thought she’d be pissed and would yell at him for it, then be over it.

 

He hadn’t anticipated _this._ This silence. The way she’d looked at him when she’d first seen him. The way her voice had caught slightly when she’d asked him why he hadn’t been in touch.

 

He could have kicked himself.

 

Why had he done it? Why had he pushed her away?

 

The only way he could explain it was … He’d known exactly what had happened when he’d started dating Malia during their senior year, and how he hadn’t needed Lydia as much because he’d had Malia.

 

That had just been a relationship when he’d been _sixteen_ ; it hadn’t even been that serious. This was different.

 

Lydia was engaged to this guy. She’d _committed_ to him!

 

He trusted that his friendship with Lydia would continue, but he’d sort of assumed it would lessen somehow. Like Elliot would become more important and _he’d_ be Lydia’s person, not Stiles.

 

There wasn’t room for Stiles to be the most important person in Lydia’s life anymore — not when she was freaking engaged to somebody else.

 

Now, he reached for their senior yearbook, which he’d been flicking through a while earlier. Just after he’d come upstairs to sulk for a little bit. The last he’d heard from Scott, he’d gone with Elliot to collect the flowers.

 

He let the page fall open onto one of his favourite photos of Lydia. He was in it too; in fact, he was standing right beside her and he remembered the moment so vividly.

 

They’d been sitting by themselves at school, side-by-side, bickering over something — probably something supernatural-related, but Stiles couldn’t remember the topic. He just remembered that they’d been arguing over something when the school’s photographer approached them.

 

“Can I get a photo?” the photographer asked. She held up her impressive camera for proof. “It’s for the yearbook.”

 

“Well,” Stiles began, looking at Lydia. “We were just —”

 

“Oh, come on,” the photographer — whose name was Sydney — continued. She smiled. “I just _have_ to get a photo of the cutest couple.”

 

Stiles’s eyes widened in panic, but Lydia just laughed. “The _what_?”

 

“Cutest couple. You guys have been nominated for prom as cutest couple,” Sydney continued. “It was announced this morning. You didn’t know?”

 

“No,” Lydia answered dryly, sounding amused.

 

Stiles looked across at her, wondering just how she was taking all of this in her stride so easily, and she looked back at him with a smile. He remembered feeling a flash of _something._ It was just a flash, but he remembered how startling and disconcerting it had been at the time. By that point, his crush on Lydia had been 

 

He had so many secrets with Lydia — so many whispered, private conversations, confessions, words that they couldn’t take back — but that one look between them felt bigger than all of those. He’d felt, at the time, like it truly _meant_ something.

 

“Well,” Sydney had answered, shrugging. “You are. So, why don’t you inch in a little closer? And Stiles, you could put your arm around Lydia’s shoulders or something? If not, this will be the only time you’ve ever looked like you _aren’t_ a couple.”

 

Sydney laughed at her joke, while Lydia dipped her head behind a curtain of hair to hide her smile.

 

Stiles muttered, “Jesus ... Christ.”

 

For once, he was lost for words.

 

So, he had followed Sydney’s instructions, albeit a little hesitantly. But Lydia had seemed totally relaxed with him, even though they were close enough for him to feel her body heat and the fabric of her blouse against his bare arm. She relaxed into him, an easygoing, happy smile on her face.

 

He hadn’t even been looking at the camera when Sydney snapped the photo. He’d been looking at Lydia. That was why it was one of his favourite photos of them; it reminded him of that moment, of how he’d felt when he’d sat beside her, the context between them suddenly different.

 

The next morning, Lydia had told him that she’d told the prom committee they weren’t a couple. The prom committee had been embarrassed for their mistake, but Lydia had laughed it off. She didn’t seem bothered by it at all, so Stiles tried not to be too.

 

But he couldn’t help but feel _weird_ about the entire thing. Like they had been called out. Like people had  _noticed_ something.

 

“Hi,” said a voice from his doorway, interrupting his thoughts about Lydia and their senior year.

 

He looked up to find her standing there, looking decidedly less angry than she had a couple of hours earlier. He wasn’t particularly surprised to see her, but he _was_ surprised at the way his chest ached just a little bit when he looked at her.

 

“Hey,” he said, pushing the yearbook aside and standing up from his bed. “Uh, come in.”

 

Lydia stepped inside, her gaze travelling around the room, taking it in. “This changes more and more every time I come home.”

 

“Yeah,” Stiles said, rubbing his chin and glancing around. “I think my dad is slowly trying to erase me from the house. Whenever I come home, another photo has disappeared.”

 

“My mom moved,” Lydia said, “and I’m pretty sure she didn’t bother even taking any photos with her. So at least there’s some here. Your board is gone, though.”

 

He said, “It’s in San Francisco.”

 

“Right,” she answered. They’d run out of small-talk topics fairly easy. “Look, I just wanted to talk to you because … not talking to you is driving me crazy. This isn’t like us.”

 

“I know,” Stiles agreed almost instantly, relieved. “Lydia, I’m sorry.”

 

“Trust me, Stiles, I’ve been trying to figure it out. I’ve been going crazy trying to figure it out. And I just can’t! What I don’t understand is _why_? Did I do something? Did I _not_ do something?”

 

“No,” he answered emphatically. He didn’t want to tell her. He _couldn’t_ tell her. Just like she didn’t tell him when it happened with him and Malia. She put it aside, she allowed him to get on with it, to be with Malia.

 

Was it selfish to tell her?

 

Whatever the answer was, he didn’t even know what he’d _say._ How could he possibly explain?

 

“So what happened?” she asked, stepping closer to him. “Because I’ve been trying to work out this puzzle for months and I haven’t been getting anywhere. Stiles, I need my best investigation partner to help me out.”

 

“I don’t have a good explanation,” Stiles told her. “I got … a got a promotion at work and things started getting really busy. I just lost track of time and —”

 

“Friends?” she interrupted, narrowing her eyes at him. “So, you’re saying you just _forgot_ to return my hundreds of messages and calls?”

 

He held up his hands. “I’m a terrible friend. I’m sorry.”

 

“You’re wrong, Stiles. You’re not a terrible friend — you’re an asshole,” she told him. “You were just _busy_?”

 

“It isn’t like I didn’t text or call at all,” he replied, but he couldn’t muster up the energy to defend himself.

 

It _was_ true that he’d gotten a promotion at work and _had_ become busier due to it, but for God’s sake, not so busy that he would ever,  _ever_  forget about Lydia.

 

“I don’t know how much it counts when it’s clearly half-hearted and three hours too late,” she said, her voice soft. “Is that really your only excuse? That you were busy at work?”

 

“Lydia —”

 

“Stiles, you’re my best friend,” she said, shrugging.

 

 _And you’re everything to me_ , he thought. It came out of nowhere. He couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, he just suddenly heard it at the back of his mind.

 

The thought freaked him out, but he also knew without a doubt that it was true.

 

“I’m really sorry,” he said, looking away from her. “I’ll try better from now on. I promise. I’ll call you right now to prove it.”

 

She stared at him for a long time, like she was trying to read him. Finally, she sighed.

 

“Whatever.”

 

“Am I forgiven?”

 

“Almost,” she answered, rolling her eyes.

 

Her gaze drifted over to the bed, where his yearbook laid open on the photo of them. Before he could stop her, she’d easily crossed the room and picked it up. She sat down on his bed, crossing one leg over the other, and smiled at the photo.

 

“I remember this,” she told him.

 

He sat down beside her, putting space between them. “I was just thinking about that day.”

 

She started flicking through the pages, pointing out ones of the whole pack together, of just Scott and Stiles, of Kira. She landed on one of Stiles and Malia, which had been taken in their junior year.

 

He watched for her reaction, but she didn’t really show one.

 

He felt like he should say something. “Malia and I were, uh, never good together.”

 

“Funny,” she replied, “I was just thinking the opposite.”

 

“You _were_?” Lydia nodded, smiling at him. “I always thought that you … Well, you never seemed … I don’t know. I guess maybe I imagined it.”

 

She fell quiet. Then she said, “You didn’t imagine it.”

 

Before Stiles could ask what she meant by that, Lydia stood up and tossed the yearbook onto the bed.

 

“I should go and see how Elliot is. I asked Scott to entertain him for a couple of hours while I went to meet Melissa, so God knows what they’ll have been doing.”

 

Of course. The fiancé.

 

Just when he had half-forgotten about him and had started to feel like they were reconnecting. 

 

“I, uh, should probably get to know Elliot a little better, huh?” he asked.

 

Lydia pursed her lips at him. “You should. For the record, he’s a great guy. I think you’d really get on with him.”

 

“Yeah, maybe,” Stiles said, still a little reluctant.

 

The thought of getting to know Elliot made him feel ill, but he couldn’t exactly put it off for any longer. If he could just be civil for the next two days, the weekend would be a lot more enjoyable for everyone.

 

“You’re coming to Scott’s tonight, right?” Lydia asked.

 

Stiles nodded. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

 

“So, I’ll see you then,” she continued, looking him in the eye. He knew that she was still trying to figure it out — that there was a part of her, possibly a _big_ part of her, that hadn’t forgiven him yet for his shitty behaviour in the last few months.

 

You see, Stiles knew one of the most important things about Lydia that there was to know. In order for her to forgive, she had to understand. And even though she’d technically accepted his apology and said that things were okay, Stiles knew things wouldn’t fully, genuinely be okay between them until she figured out exactly what was going on.

 

And she didn’t believe for a second his excuse.

 

He knew that. Of _course_ he knew that.

 

Lydia Martin was the most intelligent person he knew. She was also the most doubtful and cynical. He knew she wouldn’t believe him unless she had solid evidence, or if he was a _little_ more convincing than he had been before.

 

And he liked that about her because, if things were reversed, he would be the exact same.

 

He knew he would tell her what was really going on. He’d tell her … at some point.

 

Maybe during this weekend — if he could find a time that seemed right. But he needed to know exactly what to say, and he didn’t yet.

 

“I’ll come over to Scott’s at around five,” Stiles said. “There’s just … a few things I need to do around here first.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Just … things,” he answered.

 

“Stiles. Why are you keeping secrets from me?”

 

“I’m not!”

 

“You’re lying to me,” she said blankly. “Stiles, what is going on with you?”

 

“I said …” Stiles sighed. Loudly. “I said that I’d meet my date for coffee at three-thirty.”

 

“Your … _date_?”

 

Stiles jutted out his chin, knowing that he didn’t _need_ to feel defensive … but he did. “Yeah, my date. My date to the wedding.”

 

Lydia folded her arms across her body, her eyes watching his every move. “You have a date to the wedding?”

 

“What, like you’re the only one who’s allowed to bring a plus one?”

 

“That isn’t what I said. I just … I didn’t realise you were dating anybody. You never told me.”

 

Stiles thought very briefly about the twenty minute conversation he’d had with Laura at the gas station a few months ago, and the string of texts between them since then. They’d come close to FaceTiming once, but it had never happened. He couldn’t do it at the last minute — he couldn’t remember why now, but he’d never rescheduled.

 

Whenever they had considered meeting up for a date when Stiles was back in Beacon Hills, something always seemed to crop up that meant they had to cancel.

 

He wasn’t dating Laura. As Scott had so kindly pointed out, he didn’t even really _know_ Laura.

 

But it might make him feel better if Lydia thought he was.

 

“Well,” He shrugged. “I am.”

 

She pursed her lips again — a telltale sign that she was irritated. Well, it was either that or she was trying to hide a smile. He thought, this time, it was probably the former.

 

“I’m happy for you,” Lydia said finally. “I just wish you’d told me. But if you have to go meet her, you should. I need to go anyway.”

 

He nodded. He realised that one of them had to make the first move to go, and finally she turned around and began walking out of the room. He followed her, grabbing his wallet from the bedside table, and they walked downstairs.

 

Just as they descended the stairs, the front door opened and Scott walked into the house with Elliot following shortly behind him. They both looked up the stairs as they entered and Stiles registered the way they both seemed confused to see Stiles and Lydia together.

 

“Lydia?” Elliot asked. “I thought you were with Melissa.”

 

“Just got back,” Lydia explained quickly, her voice unnaturally high. “Melissa’s in the kitchen, I think. With Noah.”

 

“I see,” Elliot said, his eyes sliding past Lydia and focusing on Stiles.

 

Stiles felt uncomfortable under Elliot’s scrutiny. He jogged down the last few steps and extended a hand to him.

 

“Sorry that we didn’t really get a chance to speak to each other earlier,” he said, shaking Elliot’s hand. “I’m Stiles.”

 

“I know,” Elliot answered coolly. “I’m Elliot.”

 

Stiles nodded, dropping his hand. “Anyway, I’ve got to run. I’m meeting Laura in five minutes — I’ll be over at yours by about five, Scott.”

 

Scott nodded. “Okay.”

 

Scott seemed confused, glancing back and forth between Stiles and Lydia like he was trying to figure something out.

 

“Are we going back to yours, Scott?” Lydia asked.

 

“We just got here,” Scott told her. “I just wanted to say hi to Noah and my mom. Don’t you want to introduce Elliot to them as well?”

 

Stiles watched as Lydia looked at her fiancé. Elliot’s eyes were on her too, only they were slightly narrowed, confused. She walked forwards and slipped her hand into Elliot’s.

 

“Let’s introduce you to them,” she said, “since you’ll be watching them get married tomorrow. They’re practically parents to me.”

 

Elliot seemed appeased and allowed Lydia to tow him through to the kitchen, where Noah and Melissa usually hung out. Stiles guessed that she remembered that from the last time she’d visited, even though that had been several years ago now.

 

Once Lydia and Elliot left the hallway, Scott looked at Stiles.

 

“What did we just interrupt?”

 

“Nothing,” Stiles answered. “We were just … talking.”

 

“You’re talking again?”

 

He glanced down the hallway to the kitchen, where he could hear Melissa’s warm voice and Lydia laughing. Jesus, he was happy to hear that sound again. It had been too long.

 

“We’re talking again,” Stiles said, switching his attention back to his best friend, who was waiting expectantly. He also had a typical Scott look on his face: eyebrows raised, half-smile, knowing eyes.

 

“What?” Stiles asked, sighing.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Stop looking at me like that, man.”

 

“I’m not looking at you in any kind of way.”

 

“Yes, you are,” Stiles argued. “I know your looks — and I know what that one means. And you’re wrong.”

 

“I didn’t say anything, Stiles.”

 

“But you’re _thinking_ it — and I don’t want to hear it. So, just stop ... thinking things.” Stiles replied firmly. “I’m going to go. I’ll see you later.”

 

Stiles hesitated before he headed through to the kitchen. He poked his head around the door, where he could see his dad, Melissa, Lydia and Elliot sitting around the table.

 

“I’m leaving,” he announced. They all looked over and he caught Lydia’s eye, where she smiled shyly at him. It had been a long time since Lydia had looked anything like shy around him.

 

“See you later, son,” Noah said.

 

Stiles smiled at his father, before he redirected his attention to the rest of the room. “See you all later.”

 

He tried not to look specifically at Lydia as he said this — it felt like Elliot’s eyes were burning into him, despite the fact that he didn’t actually seem to be looking at him — but he couldn’t help but glance her way. He caught her eye again and she smiled, doing that funny little half-smile thing she always did. The thing he loved so much.

 

After leaving the kitchen, he walked past Scott.

 

“Don’t,” Stiles said as he passed him, opening the front door, “say a word.”

 

“I wasn’t going to say anything!” Scott called after him, as Stiles shut the door behind him.


	5. 19 hours before

Elliot touched the back of Lydia’s arm and brushed his lips against her cheek.

 

“Hey,” he murmured into her ear. “I feel like we haven’t talked since we got here.”

 

Lydia clasped her necklace together at the back of her neck and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She looked at Elliot, smiling.

 

“I know and I’m sorry, but these are my … they’re my best friends. And I haven’t seen them all in so long.”

 

Elliot nodded. He didn’t seem to mind and he fell back onto the bed in the guest room of Scott’s house. They were staying there for the night, Melissa would stay in Scott’s house, Malia and Kira would take the fold-out couch downstairs. Scott would be staying at the Stilinskis’, but, first, they were using Scott’s place to reunite everyone.

 

Melissa and Noah would be joining them for a little while, but wouldn’t be staying up too late. Melissa insisted that she needed her beauty sleep that night before her wedding more than ever, so they’d put a strict curfew in place for themselves.

 

Nothing or nobody would cause Lydia to lose a good night’s sleep.

 

Lydia was looking forward to seeing everyone again. Kira and Malia would be joining them and Malia was bringing along her boyfriend, Zack. They’d met at the coffeehouse — which Malia went to every single morning on her way to work — several months ago and had really hit it off. Even Liam, Mason and Hayden would be there.

 

And Stiles.

 

Hopefully not Stiles’s date.

 

She didn’t even want to think about _that_.

 

“No,” Elliot said now, shaking his head. “It’s cool. I like them all and I know you haven’t seen them in forever. It’s good to spend time with them.”

 

She admired her final look in the mirror before she turned around, slotting onto his lap so easily and sliding her arms around his neck.

 

“Thanks for understanding,” she said, her voice low. “I knew you would.”

 

“You know,” Scott pulled back. “I _especially_ like Scott. And Stiles. I think they’re both great guys.”

 

Lydia fixed a smile on her face, getting up from his lap and smoothing out the bedcovers. “I know. They are great.”

 

“But you weren’t speaking to Stiles all of five hours ago when they picked us up from the airport.”

 

She looked at him. “Things change.”

 

“Quickly, so it would seem.”

 

“Elliot, is everything okay?” she asked.

 

“Yeah,” he answered. “Is everything okay with you?”

 

She nodded. “Absolutely.”

 

“Good,” he replied. “Then I guess we’re good.”

 

Usually, Elliot was like an open book. Lydia could figure out what he was thinking and feeling just by looking over at him, but this time she couldn’t. She stopped smoothing the bedcovers and touched his cheek lightly with her hand, looking at him.

 

“Thank you for coming with me this weekend. I keep forgetting that it must be overwhelming to meet everyone at once — you’re doing really well. Everyone really likes you, I can tell.”

 

He seemed to brighten. “Really?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

“Then we shouldn’t keep them waiting any longer,” he said, getting to his feet and grabbing her hand. He held it in his two hands, then kissed it. “We should go downstairs. It’s six o’clock and people will be arriving soon.”

 

She nodded, wondering if Stiles had arrived already. He’d promised Scott he’d be there by five, but she hadn’t heard the doorbell ring or Scott’s voice talking to anyone. As for Scott, he’d been ready for almost two hours.

 

As soon as they’d arrived back at his, Scott had gone to shower and change his clothes. He’d started cooking thirty minutes later, arriving downstairs with wet hair and smelling like cologne.

 

Both Lydia and Elliot had offered their help, but, impressively, Scott seemed to know what he was doing. After offering a few more times — and being rejected each and every time — they eventually drifted off to get ready for the evening’s festivities.

 

Now, Elliot and Lydia headed downstairs to find Scott and check how he was getting on. They were pleasantly surprised to find Kira in the kitchen, helping out alongside Scott.

 

“Hey, how come you let Kira help?” Lydia asked.

 

Scott grinned. “You’re the guest.”

 

“Come on, Scott,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not a _guest_.”

 

“This weekend you are,” Kira pointed out. “Until you decide to move back to California, that is.”

 

Lydia sensed Elliot’s hesitation beside her and she reached for his hand, squeezing it to reassure him, before she headed further into the kitchen.

 

“You might not let me cook, but I can at _least_ pour some drinks,” she suggested, reaching for the bottle of wine on one of the kitchen counters.

 

“That, you can definitely do,” Scott agreed.

 

Lydia poured four glasses of wine and distributed them among those who were in the kitchen. She pushed the cork back into the bottle and picked up her glass, swirling the contents round and round.

 

Finally, her curiosity getting the better of her, she said, “Where’s Stiles? I thought he was supposed to be here helping you out.”

 

“He was,” Scott answered, “but he called about an hour ago and said he was running late.”

 

“Oh,” Lydia replied lightly. “The date went well?”

 

Scott looked up at her. Sometimes, when Scott looked at her, she felt like he saw straight through her. Like he knew all her feelings, secrets, thoughts and everything else. It made her nervous.

 

“I think so,” he replied, his voice level and not giving anything away.

 

She resisted the strong urge to ask for more details on Stiles and his date. She was surprised at just how much she wanted to know, but she didn’t think she’d be able to hide her feelings at the answers.

 

And she wasn’t _jealous_. She just couldn’t believe that Stiles was bringing a date to the wedding that she was maid of honour for and she hadn’t known anything about it. Did that mean it had been last minute? That they hadn’t been together long? Or had everyone just cleverly kept it from her?

 

“Well,” she said finally, “I guess we’ll find out when he gets here.”

 

She took a long sip of her wine, just as Elliot asked Scott what he was making. The two of them started chatting easily about cooking — Elliot was pretty good in the kitchen too; in contrast, Lydia had never had time to learn how to cook and usually preferred to opt for takeout when faced with the possibility of cooking — and Lydia edged towards Kira.

 

“How was your shift at the hospital?”

 

Kira nodded, though she didn’t look at Lydia as she answered. She was busy chopping onions. “It was okay. The usual.”

 

“Well, what’s the _usual_ like?” Lydia pressed. “Come on, I want to know all about it.”

 

“I mean,” Kira said, “it’s eventful and there’s always something to be doing. What’s your job like, Lydia?”

 

“Oh,” Lydia answered. “I’m a data analyst at a research centre … It’s okay. Not nearly as rewarding as nursing.”

 

“Lydia,” Kira said, pushing the pile of chopped onions to the side and starting on a new one. “Is something on your mind?”

 

“What? No,” Lydia replied.

 

“You’re a terrible liar,” Kira said.

 

At that moment, the doorbell rang. Lydia straightened up, eager for something to do.

 

“I’ll get it,” she called out, walking through to the hallway and opening the door to reveal Malia. “Malia. Thank God you’re here — Elliot and Scott are talking about cooking.”

 

“Cooking?” Malia frowned. “Why?”

 

Lydia shook her head, her gaze shifting to the man standing just behind Malia. He was tall, handsome and held in his hands a bottle of expensive-looking wine.

 

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Zack.”

 

Lydia recognised Zack’s name from what she’d heard about Malia’s boyfriend, so she smiled and extended her hand for him to shake.

 

“I’m Lydia. Come on in.”

 

She led them through to the kitchen, where Zack greeted Kira and Scott like old friends, then introduced himself to Elliot. Lydia watched them from the sidelines, thinking about how they all seemed such good friends. She’d never even _met_ Zack. She hadn’t known Stiles was dating someone. She didn’t know if _Scott_ was dating someone.

 

How much had she missed out on by living in New York?

 

Sure, she kept in touch with her friends as often as she could. But when was the last time she’d talked to them about something _other_ than Melissa and Noah’s wedding?

 

She refilled her glass of wine and integrated herself into the circle. Malia and Zack volunteered to set out the table, while Kira and Scott cooked together. Lydia felt herself relax around them and she took the opportunity to ask as much as she could about her friends and their lives.

 

By the time that Noah and Melissa arrived just before 7 p.m., she was on her third glass of wine. Liam and Mason arrived twenty minutes later, and Hayden just five minutes after them.

 

It was almost 8 p.m. by the time Stiles showed up, carrying another bottle of wine and a six-pack of beers, full of apologies. He’d shown up just in time for dinner and didn’t get a chance to speak to Lydia, which was fine with her as she was kind of avoiding him anyway.

 

It seemed like he was in a great mood.

 

Lydia didn’t really want to think about that what might have meant for his date.

 

They sat down at the table, the array of Mexican food Scott had spent hours working on in the kitchen laid out in front of them, and Scott stood up to raise his glass.

 

“I just wanted to make a toast to my mom and Noah. They’re the reason we’re all here right now, so we can all support them and witness them confirm their love to each other tomorrow afternoon. I can’t wait for tomorrow and I love you both.”

 

Stiles got to his feet, raising his own glass. He cleared his throat dramatically. “Seconded.”

 

Lydia rolled his eyes at him, which he didn’t seem to notice. It was _just_ like Stiles to take a serious, emotional moment and turn it into something comical.

 

Everyone laughed and Stiles said, “To Noah and Melissa.”

 

They all echoed this and knocked glasses with each other, before Scott instructed them to dig in and soon they were passing bowls and dishes back and forth between them. It all looked fantastic, but the thing Lydia appreciated the most was the chatter and laughter around her.

 

After they’d finished the meal, Noah and Melissa made a toast.

 

“Um, so you guys may want to toast to us for being the reason we’re all here tonight,” Melissa said, “but we wouldn’t be here without all of you. More specifically, without my maid of honour, Lydia, who has gone above and beyond to help plan this wedding and help me in any way through the past year. And also to Noah’s best men, Scott and Stiles, for always being around to help as well. We truly appreciate the three of you — and the rest of you, of course, for being here to celebrate with us.”

 

They knocked glasses again and Lydia smiled at Scott, then looked over at Stiles.

 

He was already looking at her. Even though he was sitting at the other end of the table from her, he raised his glass towards hers like they were toasting to each other.

 

Lydia felt uneasy. She knew that she had to talk to Stiles and it had to be tonight. There was so much she needed to say to him — and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold it in for.

 

___________________________________

 

“That creepy motel in California,” Lydia volunteered. “That was the _worst_.”

 

“No way!” Kira replied. “Eichen House. Surely?”

 

The others glanced at each other, before Lydia shook her head.

 

“I was unconscious for most of it,” she said eventually.

 

The others smiled — moving onto other creepy or scary stories from their days in high school, all of which they’d left out key, supernatural details of because Elliot and Zack were in the room — but Lydia glanced at Stiles, who was looking over at her.

 

Of course, she remembered more of her time in Eichen House than she’d let on. She remembered so much more, but they’d never talked about it and Lydia didn’t know how awkward Stiles would feel about her addressing it.

 

She obviously couldn’t mention any of it in front of Elliot either. That much was obvious. She didn’t want to make _him_ feel uncomfortable, listening to the intimate moments she’d shared with Stiles while he’d rescued her from Eichen House.

 

Luckily, Elliot had been too busy being amazed and a little disgusted at all of the gruesome things they’d gotten up to in high school, which sounded extra odd when none of them could address the supernatural aspects of the situations … meaning it ended up sounding like they were all just super unlucky.

 

He kept turning to Lydia, where they were curled up together on Scott’s couch, with wide, disbelieving eyes and mouthing, “Seriously?”

 

She had her legs curled around his and his hand was on her knee, but he wasn’t paying much attention to her. He was enraptured with the stories from her friends, which gave her a chance to think about that day in Eichen House more clearly.

 

She remembered that entire day.

 

She remembered Stiles running into the room she’d been kept in and telling her to shut up so he could save her. She remembered how he’d seemed so confident as they limped along the tunnels together.

 

She remembered the look on his face in his Jeep. She remembered how close he’d been to her, how badly she’d wanted to reach out and touch him just to calm him down, to focus him, to reassure him.

 

She remembered being at the animal clinic and being unable to hold it in. She’d screamed. She remembered how had Stiles had  _instantly_ thrown himself over her to protect her from the shattered windows.

 

Even as she’d drifted in and out of consciousness, she could still _hear_ him.

 

Begging for her to open her eyes. The waver in his voice. The way his hands gently brushed the glass from her face, from her eyes. She could remember the way he’d said her name. She could remember everything about that day.

 

But they’d never talked about it.

 

Because they were just friends.

 

“Jesus,” Elliot said now, disturbing Lydia from her thoughts. He was shaking his head in disbelief. “You guys went through some crazy shit in high school. Why didn’t this town have a better police force?”

 

“Hey,” Noah said, sitting in the armchair by the window. Melissa sat in the armchair beside her husband-to-be, their hands intertwined. “We did our best. Under the circumstances.”

 

“Circumstances?” Zack asked. “What circumstances?”

 

The group all seemed to exchange a look at once. It was one said that Nobody say a word.

 

Stiles shrugged easily. “The murders took them by surprise. We’re just a tiny little town. Nobody ever expected anything like it.”

 

Elliot looked at Stiles. “What’s your favourite creepy story?”

 

“Mine?” Stiles leaned back, rubbing his chin, deep in thought. “Barrow. That mass-murderer. Terrifying.”

 

“A freaking _mass murderer_?” Elliot repeated, his mouth hanging open. “Holy shit.”

 

“Yeah,” Stiles looked at Lydia. “That was quite a day.”

 

She knew, without a doubt in her mind, that he wasn’t referring to the actual Barrow part of that day at all. He was referring to the time they’d spent in his room after. The time when Lydia’s heart had skipped a beat from the way Stiles had looked at her.

 

She’d tried her best to forget that. Same with the kiss. She’d also tried to forget that.

 

They’d been best friends for so long, but they’d had those little moments every now and then … that had been so much more than just friendship.

 

But neither of them had known how to figure that out.

 

“All right,” Noah said, sighing. “That’s enough creepy stories for tonight, otherwise we’ll all have nightmares and be exhausted tomorrow. Speaking of, it’s almost eleven. I’m going to head home. Stiles, you coming?”

 

“Um,” Stiles looked at his dad. “I’m going to hang out here a while longer. I won’t be long.”

 

“Okay,” Noah said. He got to his feet, but then stooped down to kiss Melissa on the cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow, wife-to-be. I’ll be the one at the end of the altar.”

 

“Great, almost-husband,” Melissa replied. “I’ll be the one in white.”

 

Noah laughed and after he’d said goodbye to everyone else, he headed home. Soon after, Melissa decided she’d go to bed too. She kissed Scott goodnight, said goodnight to everyone, and disappeared upstairs.

 

Twenty minutes later, Liam, Mason and Hayden left too. Zack left as well, heading back to his apartment. Then Elliot — after yawning for ten minutes straight — kissed Lydia and announced he was going to sleep too. Lydia promised him she’d be up soon.

 

The smaller pack remained: Scott, Kira, Malia, Stiles and Lydia.

 

“It’s good to have everyone back together,” Malia said.

 

Scott smiled. “Not everyone.”

 

Lydia felt a tiny stab at her heart, thinking of Allison. She knew just how happy Allison would have been to see Noah and Melissa get married. They’d all been hoping it would happen for years, they were just so well matched. Lydia hoped that Allison had found a way to watch somehow.

 

“I’ve missed you guys,” Lydia told them. “I love New York but … Beacon Hills is home.”

 

“Why don’t you move back?” Scott asked.

 

“My job …” she answered, looking away from Stiles. “Elliot. He loves his apartment and his job. He’s always lived in New York. I don’t think I could ask him to do that — to leave.”

 

“But if he loves you,” Stiles said, looking right at her. “He’d do it.”

 

“I couldn’t ask him to change his life like that,” she replied, finally meeting his eyes. They were sitting across the room from each other, but it was like they were the only two in there.

 

Stiles shrugged. “I’d do it.”

 

At the same time, everyone’s heads lifted and looked at him, shocked.

 

Lydia drew in her breath, her eyes narrowing at him. _Had he just …?_

 

“For someone I loved like that — for someone I was engaged to,” Stiles continued, shaking his head. “I’d do it.”

 

Scott let out a long sigh, but nobody asked why. He didn’t offer an explanation — he just seemed fed up.

 

“Right,” Kira said, breaking the silence of the room, “I’m getting tired. We should probably all head to bed. Big day tomorrow.”

 

Everyone nodded — Lydia felt resigned; she didn’t want to go to bed just yet, even though she knew she should — but made no move to leave.

 

“Okay, what Kira means is that you all have to leave,” Malia said. “We’re sleeping in here tonight and we can’t sleep while you’re all in here getting nostalgic about high school.”

 

“All right, Jesus,” Stiles complained, pushing himself off the couch. “We’re going.”

 

“Goodnight guys,” Scott said. “Stiles, I can give you a ride.”

 

“You go ahead,” Stiles replied. “I drove here, so I may as well drive back. Then my car is in the … right place for tomorrow.”

 

Scott frowned, but then glanced over at Lydia. Lydia raised her eyebrows. She knew this all too well; they seemed to be communicating silently. It had nothing to do with supernatural ability, it was more like best friend ability.

 

Finally, Scott shrugged.

 

“Suit yourself,” he said finally. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Bright and early. Lydia, I’ll see you at the church — keep us updated through the morning. Okay?”

 

She nodded and Scott left, shaking his head as he did so. He opened the door to his house, shutting it again behind him.

 

Stiles and Lydia were alone for the first time since earlier that day — which had been _hours_ ago. They’d both done so much with their day that it felt like forever ago.

 

“Well,” Lydia said, looking over at Stiles. “I should go to bed. I think Melissa is planning on being awake by six. At the latest. And I have a _ton_ of things that I need to be doing tomorrow morning as well, so —”

 

“Do you want to go for a drive?” Stiles asked.

 

“Right now?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Stiles, it’s late,” she told him. “It’s almost midnight.”

 

“So?”

 

“We have to be up in _six hours_.”

 

“And you’re only here for the weekend,” he pointed out. “Why don’t we make the most of it?”

 

“Well,” Lydia sighed, glancing around as if she was looking for some kind of inspiration or answer. “What are we going to do? Where are we going to go?”

 

Stiles smiled that lopsided smile she loved so much. It meant, she knew, that he was up to something. He was planning something. Usually, this knowing smile got him in trouble.

 

“Leave that with me.”

 

He turned around and started walking over to the front door.

 

“You coming?” he called over his shoulder, without turning back.

 

He was confident, she realised, that she would follow. He was confident in his ability to persuade her. She glanced up the staircase and knew she should go upstairs, climb into bed beside Elliot and kiss him goodnight. She should go to sleep and get some rest. Tomorrow would be an exhausting day.

 

No matter how many times Lydia repeated all of these reasons for staying behind in her head, she couldn’t physically force her body to cooperate.

 

The front door was open. Stiles had walked through it already and she had no idea if he’d already be on his way, having interpreted her hesitation as a no.

 

Before she could convince herself any more, Lydia followed him.

 

He was standing by the gate at the end of the pathway, twirling his car keys around.

 

“Hey,” he said, brightening when he saw her. “You made it.”

 

“Where are we going?” she asked, easing the door shut behind her and walking towards him.

 

He unlocked his car — which, sadly, wasn’t the Jeep — and began walking towards it.

 

She had no choice but to follow, opening the passenger seat door and getting in.

 

“Stiles,” she said, her voice low and level. “What is going on?”

 

“Relax, Lydia. We’re just going to do what we always did.”

 

Lydia narrowed her eyes at him. “Our place?”

 

Stiles grinned and turned on the engine, easing his foot off the clutch and pulling away from the curb.

 

“Where else?” he said finally.

 

He shot her a smile across the car, and she couldn’t help but smile back.

 

She was still pissed at him for so clearly not telling her the truth about why he’d been dodging her calls, but she still felt like she had her best friend back.

 

And that was good enough for tonight.


	6. 12 hours and 30 minutes before

Stiles turned down the volume of the radio, his eye catching the time on the dashboard as he did so.

 

“It’s half-midnight,” he commented, though he was pretty sure Lydia could figure out the time for herself.

 

“Twelve and a half hours until the wedding ceremony,” Lydia said from beside him, yawning.

 

“Lydia! Stop yawning!”

 

“It’s half past midnight, Stiles,” she said to him, pursing her lips disapprovingly as she looked at him. “I’m still on New York time, which makes it half past three, and I’ve been awake since five-thirty _yesterday morning_.”

 

Stiles raised his eyebrows. “Okay. Go ahead and yawn if you need to.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

He smiled, sneaking a look over at her. He wanted to spend the entire car ride just looking at her, making her laugh like he used to, but something pulled him back. Something stopped him.

 

Maybe it was the fact that she was engaged to someone else and he didn’t feel like they were the same as they’d once been. No, he _knew_ they weren’t the same as they had once been.

 

But he just wanted tonight to feel that way again.

 

He pulled the car into the gas station and cut the engine.

 

“You want anything?”

 

Lydia shook her head, but then said, “Reese’s Pieces.”

 

He stopped, smiled at her, then got out of the car. As he got out of the car, he caught a glimpse of her through the window and allowed himself to look at her for longer than the nanoseconds he’d allowed himself to look at her so far that day.

 

Whenever he looked at her, he was terrified that her fiancé would notice and confront him. He felt like it was written across his forehead for everyone to see: JEALOUS.

 

But now, he could take her in properly. The way she reached for her phone, fiddled with the volume controls in the car and lowered the mirror, all seemingly at the same time.

 

He was both amazed and a little intimidated by her, but there was nothing new there.

 

As he filled his car up, he reflected on the day so far. Right now, right then, was the first time he’d fully felt at ease with Lydia. She put him on edge — especially when he knew she was pissed at him.

 

At least he’d started to fix that, even if it had been a temporary fix and a weak apology, at that.

 

He left Lydia in the car, heading into the store to pay for the gas. With only a little hesitation, he filled up two cups of coffee — one Americano and one soy latte — and grabbed a pack of Reeses’s Pieces, then paid for all of the items and the gas at the counter.

 

When Stiles got back to his car, he passed the cup of coffee to her as well as the candy.

 

“Stiles,” she said, “I can’t drink this. It’s too late.”

 

“We’re going to be up even later,” he told her, slotting his cup into one of the cupholders in his car.

 

She clutched the coffee, shaking her her head.

 

“How long have you been planning this for?” she asked him, narrowing her eyes at him with suspicion. She was trying to hide a smile though; he was 90% sure.

 

“An hour or so,” he replied nonchalantly.

 

He was lying, but he didn’t really feel like being completely honest with her. At least, not then.

 

The truth was that as soon as he’d seen her curled up on the couch beside Elliot — who, frustratingly, seemed like a decent enough guy — and he couldn’t concentrate properly, he’d started thinking of something.

 

He hadn’t been involved in the conversation around him, he hadn’t been listening properly. He’d just been thinking about how much he cared for Lydia — for his best friend — and he had to spend _some_ time with her that was just them.

 

Nobody else.

 

The plan had started to form in his mind, while the others shared stories and memories about Beacon Hills. They used to go for drives all the time together — it had been their thing.

 

After whatever supernatural disaster they’d been dealing with at the time had been defeated, and everybody could breathe a sigh of relief for all of two weeks before the next one arrived, Scott gave orders that all of the pack should do nightly patrols.

 

Everyone complained.

 

Apart from Stiles.

 

First, Scott suggested that Stiles team up with Malia (he said no, they’d broken up a few months earlier — too weird); then, Kira (Scott’s girlfriend? Also too weird); next, Liam (too annoying); Hayden (ditto); eventually, Mason (human, defenceless, absolutely no help to Stiles in any kind of fight).

 

Finally, the only person Scott could suggest was Lydia. Stiles pretended to think about it for all of two seconds before he agreed. Lydia was a banshee, she was more than capable of handling herself, and, well, Stiles still carried his bat everywhere.

 

So, the teams took turns.

 

Stiles and Lydia were put on Wednesday night patrols throughout most of their senior year. They drove around in Stiles’s Jeep — and occasionally Lydia’s car, when the Jeep wouldn’t quite sputter to life and Lydia _refused_ to ride in it anywhere for the next few patrols — for hours.

 

Since it had been their senior year, they’d mostly used the time to study, quizzing each other. But they’d also talked. And laughed. And confided in each other.

 

There was something about driving around town in the middle of the night when nobody else was awake that Stiles loved. They said things to each other that he wasn’t sure he’d have said to her during the day.

 

He loved thinking that it was just the two of them in the entire town, the only ones awake.

 

Although everyone complained about patrols, Stiles began to look forward to Wednesdays every week.

 

Even though Stiles and Lydia spent a lot of time together anyway, every Wednesday was when Stiles knew he could talk to Lydia with no interruptions, no pack members listening in with their little werewolf powers, or parents hovering at the door.

 

Just the two of them.

 

And then sometimes, not on a Wednesday, his phone would light up at midnight and Lydia would be parked outside, ready to go somewhere.

 

Stiles would pull on some sweatpants and a hoodie and be in her car within two minutes, not even caring where they were going. He just liked spending time with her.

 

They wouldn’t be out as late as they were on patrols — 1 a.m., 1:30 at the latest — because of school, but they allowed enough time to drive around town, chat, before returning home and promising to see each other in the morning at school.

 

Now, in the car with Lydia, Stiles thought about those times they’d shared back in their senior year. It had really been the making of their friendship.

 

The hours they’d spent driving around Beacon Hills defined them, it was their own time, something that they did together.

 

No fiancés allowed. Like he’d said, nobody else.

 

“Where, exactly, are we going?” Lydia asked, frowning out of the window at the passing scenery.

 

“Are you just going to keep asking questions the entire time?” he replied, glancing across at her.

 

He pulled out of the gas station and started driving along the wide, empty road. Just the way he liked it. Lydia had rolled her window down and her hair — still strawberry-blonde, but just a little bit shorter in length than he remembered — blew all about her face.

 

“You know,” she said finally, “we can’t be back too late, Stiles. I mean it. We have a wedding to go to tomorrow — I’m the maid of honour!”

 

“And I’m the best man —”

 

“ _One_ of the best _men_ ,” she corrected him.

 

“— so my job is equally as important as yours,” he finished, choosing not to reply to her comment, which he knew had been a dig at him anyway. “We won’t be back that late.”

 

“Not as late as patrols?” she asked, with a hint of a smile.

 

He glanced across the car at her, his hands tightening on the steering wheel as his stomach lurched. There was so much he wanted to say to her — but not now.

 

“No,” he replied, since sometimes they’d arrive back from patrols after 5 a.m. and would realise they needed to be up for school in less than an hour.

 

It had never been intentional — Scott advised patrols to take place between 11 p.m. and 2 a.m. He would never ask his friends to sacrifice their entire night to make sure no supernatural creatures roamed where they shouldn’t, or they’d been invaded by a new alpha pack — or something similar — overnight.

 

But sometimes Stiles and Lydia just lost track of time.

 

“Good,” she said, sipping from her coffee. “Thanks for this, by the way.”

 

“No problem.”

 

“You remembered my order.”

 

He shrugged. “It’s been the same for twelve years, Lydia. I think it would be more effort to _forget_ your order.”

 

She nodded. Then, breaking the silence, she said, “Are you going to tell me the real reason why you’ve been dodging my calls and texts?”

 

He wasn’t surprised. In fact, if he was even the _slightest_ bit surprised, it was only because it had taken her so long to bring it up.

 

“Not yet,” he said.

 

“Soon, then?” she asked.

 

He nodded. “Soon.”

 

She seemed satisfied, sitting back. “Okay.”

 

There was a pause.

 

Lydia said, “You know, I’m not even sure if the field will be there. It’s probably someone’s land by now, there’s probably a gate. It won’t just be ours anymore.”

 

Stiles shrugged, determined not to be put off, but he couldn’t help but notice that she’d figured out exactly where he was taking her. Of _course_ she had.

 

“There won’t be a gate,” he said, with confidence.

 

She sipped her coffee, looking at him thoughtfully. She licked off a layer of foam from her upper lip. “Have you been recently?”

 

“No,” he answered. “I would never go without you — it wouldn’t feel right.”

 

Stiles had forgotten how sharp the turning off to “the field” was, and he found himself braking suddenly and making a start turn to the right so he didn’t go straight past it.

 

He hadn’t been there in a couple of years, and his confidence over the gate rapidly disappeared when he saw that there was, in fact, a gate where there had once been just a track.

 

Stiles cut the engine in his car and looked at her. “Ready?”

 

“This is private land now,” she told him, gesturing to the gate.

 

It wasn’t high. It would probably come up to Stiles’s chest. But it definitely hadn’t been there the last time Stiles and Lydia had ventured out to the place they had fondly come to know as _their_ field.

 

Because, really, that was all it was. It was just a field just twenty-five minutes out of town. There were no animals, no trespassing signs, nothing. It was just an empty field.

 

They’d first started going there after patrols — sometimes during — and then, eventually, on their nights off from patrol too. It had become something of a sanctuary for them; somewhere that they could go when they wanted to escape the real world.

 

They were only twenty-five minutes from Beacon Hills, but it felt like another world. They couldn’t hear any traffic, they left their phones in the car. They left the world behind to lie down in that field and look at the stars for a few hours.

 

Stiles took his keys from the ignition and opened his door.

 

“We can get over it,” he replied, grabbing his coffee on his way out.

 

He shut his car door behind him, approaching the gate and sizing it up. He had hoped that Lydia would follow, and soon he heard the sound of her door opening and then slamming shut.

 

He could feel her standing beside him before he could see her in his peripheral vision.

 

“There is no way I’m getting over that,” she said flatly, clutching her coffee in her hands.

 

Stiles looked at her, then the gate. Where it came up to his chest, it came up to Lydia’s shoulders.

 

“I’ll give you a boost.”

 

She looked at him like he’d grown another head. “Stiles.”

 

“Come on,” he encouraged her, lacing his fingers together to form something like a stirrup for her to put her foot in. He looked at her expectantly, but she remained standing still. “What? You don’t want to? You want to go home instead?”

 

She narrowed her eyes at him, then placed her coffee on the ground. “You better pass that over to me when I’m on the other side.”

 

He saluted her. “Yes, ma’am.”

 

After a lot of grumbling and complaining, Lydia held onto the gate, used Stiles’s boost and swung her free leg over it. Once she was sitting atop it, with one leg over each side, she swung her leg closest to Stiles over and hopped off it, easily clearing it.

 

Stiles cheered, clapping his hands, and she brushed down her dress. She was rolling her eyes but also smiling, Stiles noted.

 

He passed her both their half-finished cups of coffee, before he hoisted himself over the gate and — thankfully — landed it pretty easily.

 

It would have embarrassing if he’d tripped or stumbled in any way, but he also knew it would have made her laugh and he’d spent most of his life trying to do that. So, maybe it wouldn’t have been all that bad.

 

“Where did we used to sit?” Lydia asked, scanning the field.

 

“Just over here.”

 

Stiles had imprinted the memories in his brain. He’d never lose them. He would never forget all those nights and the words they’d whispered to each other under the stars.

 

He sat down first, right in their spot. She followed him, sitting beside him and crossing her legs at the ankles. She placed both their cups of coffee between them, like she was putting up a barrier.

 

“I wonder who this belongs to now,” she said. “Or if it belonged to somebody all along.”

 

“Probably. They probably only realised a few years ago that we’ve been coming here all along and put up that gate to try and stop us. Pathetic.”

 

She smiled. “We haven’t been coming here all along though, have we? Not since college.”

 

“Has it really been that long?”

 

“We’ve been busy,” she answered. “Some of us busier than others, it would appear.”

 

“Ah,” Stiles finished his coffee, then laid down with his arm behind his head. “That again.”

 

“Stop avoiding it,” she replied sternly, looking over at him.

 

She looked like the same Lydia from their senior year — that almost always present disapproving look, which always felt like it was reserved just for him. The slightly narrowed green eyes. The pursed lips — those lips.

 

Those lips had kissed him once.

 

And they’d never talked about it.

 

Whenever he thought about bringing it up, something stopped him. If it had been Kira, Malia, even freaking _Scott_ who’d kissed him to try to calm him and calm his breathing, he’d easily have been able to joke about it.

 

He’d never _stop_ joking about it.

 

But the kiss with Lydia … that had been different.

 

He’d never been able to joke about it, or talk about it.

 

Maybe that was because of the way his heart started beating faster every time he thought about that moment.

 

Maybe it was because he knew, deep down, that if it had been with anyone else, they wouldn’t have calmed him down with a kiss. They’d have thought of something else, anything else, to help him.

 

But what did that _mean_?

 

He hated that they’d never talked about it. There were so many things about that kiss he’d wanted to ask her and had for eleven years. He never had.

 

Now, Lydia was waiting for him to answer, apparently unimpressed with how long he was taking. He didn’t want to tell her it was because he’d been replaying that moment from the boys’ locker room over and over in his head.

 

“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I, uh, just …”

 

“Stiles, you’re going to tell me the truth,” she said slowly, laying down beside him.

 

She shuffled for a few seconds to get comfortable, her arm brushing against his.

 

He knew he couldn’t avoid it for much longer — it was his fault, really, for putting himself in the position where they were alone and he had no escape from his questions.

 

“Remember when I dated Malia?”

 

Lydia was quiet for a few seconds, so much so that he wondered if she’d even heard him. Finally, she cleared her throat.

 

“Yeah, I remember.”

 

“We’ve always been there for each other — you and I — for as long as I can remember,” Stiles told her, looking up at the stars rather than her. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

 

“Of course,” she agreed.

 

“But when I was with Malia, I went to … her when I needed help, or needed to talk to someone,” he said. “It felt right because she was my girlfriend then. And even though you were still my best friend …”

 

“There wasn’t room for me too,” Lydia finished softly. “And you thought …”

 

“Yeah,” he said finally, nodding as he finished her thought. “In fact, I don’t _think_ that. I _know_ it, Lydia. You’re engaged now.” 

 

“There’s still room for you in my life,” she said. “I promise you. Stiles, you’re my best friend — you’ve saved my life, both literally and figuratively, countless times. You’re the one person I’ve always been able to rely on, especially since Allison died. There’s room for you. There will _always_ be room for you.”

 

“But he’s that person for you now,” Stiles answered. “It is what it is.”

 

Lydia shook her head. “You’re an idiot, Stiles.”

 

“That was uncalled for,” Stiles replied, looking over at her.

 

Their faces were so close to each other. If he wanted to, he could brush her hair away from her face. He could loop his fingers through hers. He could —

 

He looked down at her hands, wondering if he could just reach out for one in a non-awkward, totally smooth kind of way … to see that she was twisting her engagement ring round and round her ring finger.

 

He didn’t think she’d even noticed she was doing it.

 

“No, I mean,” Lydia continued, “you’re an idiot for thinking anything like this. You really haven’t been answering my calls because you thought I didn’t _need_ you anymore? Of course I need you! Who else would I go to when I had some kind of supernatural problem? When I need help with being a banshee? I can’t — _wouldn’t_ — go to Elliot.”

 

“I guess not,” Stiles mumbled.

 

“I’d go to you,” she said softly, “I’d always go to you.”

 

“Okay,” he murmured.

 

“We’re emotionally tethered to each other,” Lydia reminded him. “I’m your anchor. Stiles, I pulled you back, and all the rest of it.”

 

He nodded, though it was kind of difficult while laying down. “Yeah, you did.”

 

“We’ve been through too much together to let anything come between us,” she continued. She propped herself up on her elbow. “So, just tell me. Is that it? Are we okay now?”

 

_I’m jealous._

 

The thought appeared at the forefront of his mind, like a flash.

 

“Stiles?” she prompted. “Anything else?”

 

He could just … tell her.

 

But would it ruin things? It would certainly _change_ things.

 

He’d always been afraid of this question — of this _feeling_ — that he always buried as deep as he possibly could.

 

The way his heart had thudded after their first — and only — kiss; the way he’d felt when she’d laid on his bed and he’d told her he’d go back to the school to search for Barrow.

 

Those moments, and more, had always made him think. His head would spin and he’d think about it, surely — _surely_ — it couldn’t mean anything. Anyone would feel those things in moments as intimate as some of the ones they’d found themselves in.

 

Anyone would.

 

What if it didn’t mean anything? What if he said something to her and it changed things, but he was wrong?

 

“Stiles?” Lydia said, starting to sound irritated. “You okay?”

 

He took a deep breath and turned to look at her, taking in how beautiful she looked under the stars and the moonlight. 

 

“Actually,” he began, wondering if he would really have the courage to say it. To just ...  _say_ it. “There is something else.”

 

She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue. 

 

Stiles swallowed, searching for the words to express how much she meant to him, searching for the way he could tell her what he had always wanted to tell her. He just needed to jump. Blurt it out, whatever. To just jump. 

 

Otherwise ... She would get married. And he would regret it for the rest of his life.

 

“Lydia,” he continued, smiling softly at her. 

 

He took another deep breath. 

 

This was it. 

 

Time to jump.


	7. 11 hours and 45 minutes before

Lydia waited for what felt like an eternity. It was almost like he hadn’t heard her, he was just laying in the same spot, looking at her but not really _seeing_ her.

 

“Stiles?” She waved a hand in his face. She was getting irritated now. “You okay?”

 

He seemed to zone back in, focusing on her.

 

“Sorry,” he answered. “I was just, uh, thinking about the wedding tomorrow.”

 

This was Lydia’s favourite topic. She could talk about the wedding for hours. She’d literally managed to bore Elliot to sleep a few times by talking about the wedding.

 

She supposed that Stiles thought their conversation about his disappearance was over, though she had a feeling he hadn’t said everything he wanted to say.

 

But she wasn’t quite finished yet.

 

She knew him better than to give up on him so easily. Sometimes he just needed a little bit of prodding and prompting. She was _sure_ she could get him to reveal whatever was going on in that mind of his. Knowing Stiles, she suspected it was a million and one things, all whirling around at once.

 

“Stiles,” she said. “What were you going to tell me? Why do you look so weird?”

 

His arm brushed against hers. He shook his head, glancing away from her. Something had shifted with him, but she had no idea what it was. She found it difficult to read him, which was odd. She felt like she  _always_ knew what Stiles was thinking. Usually, the look on his face alone spoke a thousand words.

 

He had never been good at hiding how he felt, but maybe he had improved. She had no idea what he was thinking.

 

Finally, he said, “No. No, sorry. I can’t ... remember what I was even going to say. It’s stupid anyway. But ... Lydia, I am sorry, okay? For being a bad friend recently. I never meant to hurt your feelings.”

 

She nodded. “It’s okay, Stiles.”

 

“Really? I’m forgiven?”

 

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

 

“Got it,” he answered. He seemed disappointed over something. She figured it couldn’t have anything to do with her because she’d just forgiven him for being such a terrible friend. He was _happy_ about that. He must be disappointed over something else, something that she didn’t know anything about.

 

He smiled at her, but she noticed it looked kind of forced. “The wedding, then. Not long now.” 

 

She checked the time on her watch, nodding along with his obvious subject change. “Eleven hours and forty … two minutes until it begins.”

 

He looked up at the stars and she looked at him, rolling onto her side so she could focus on him. She knew what Stiles looked like when he had something on his mind, and this was it. She knew that he hadn’t dragged her out to this field for no reason.

 

But what he said surprised her.

 

“The whole wedding thing ... It makes me miss my mom,” he told her. 

 

He shifted, looking uncomfortable, and stared straight up at the sky above them.

 

One of his arms was casually draped across his body, the other one was positioned by his side closest to her. Momentarily, she thought about how easily she could reach out and take it in her own. 

 

They didn’t talk about Stiles’s mom, Claudia. Stiles preferred not to talk about her and Lydia respected that. She never pushed it. She never asked, unless he wanted to.

 

Their rules weren’t quite the same for Allison because Stiles had known her and been friends with her too, but they still respected each other’s right to not want to talk about it. It was a can of worms they didn’t like to open all too often. If they started talking about loss, they’d never stop. 

 

If Lydia  _wanted_ to talk about Allison, or visit her grave, Stiles listened to everything she said.

 

But Stiles never wanted to talk about his mom.

 

She waited for him to continue.

 

“My dad is getting married tomorrow,” he continued finally. “I think Melissa is great — she’s like a mom to me anyway, but … I still miss mine. It feels weird, knowing that by tomorrow my dad won’t be married to my mom anymore.”

 

“Hey,” Lydia said, “but she’s still your mom. And just because your dad is getting remarried, it doesn’t mean he loves her any less. He’s just allowing himself be happy again.”

 

Without hesitation, Lydia reached for Stiles’s hand, the one closest to her. She had to wiggle a little closer to him to be able to grab it and her fingers wrapped around his, interlocking tightly.

 

She squeezed it.

 

She didn’t think about Elliot, asleep back at Scott’s house, or even about the wedding.

 

She just thought about Stiles and how she could help him. How she could be his friend. How she could make up for the fact that she’d thought the worst about Stiles’s disappearance, cursing him for being so inconsiderate and distant, when in actual fact … he’d just been going through the exact same thing she’d gone through when Malia had been his girlfriend.

 

Which she _also_ referred to as the worst time in her life. With Allison gone, and Stiles … otherwise occupied, she’d felt so alone.

 

Not to mention the fact that she hadn’t quite known how she felt about Stiles being with someone. Selfishly, Lydia had grown used to him being right there beside her for so many years — even the years she’d ignored him, she’d known he was there, always ready for her if she so needed him — and it felt weird when she’d stood at her locker and he hadn’t been there.

 

She’d been relieved when Malia and Stiles had broken up. She knew that wasn’t  _right_. Not as Stiles’s friend. She’d comforted Allison when her and Scott had broken up. She’d felt Allison’s pain that night, teared up alongside her as Allison explained how badly she was hurting and how painful it had been to break up with Scott.

 

When Stiles had told her him and Malia and broken up, she hadn’t known how to react. She’d nodded, said slowly, “You okay?”, then waited until she got home to allow herself a small sigh of relief.

 

That night, she’d slept better than she had in _months_. For once, she hadn’t gone home and thought about Malia and Stiles together, Stiles ditching their patrol for her. She hadn’t thought about those weird, uncomfortable,  _jealous_ feelings she’d felt for so many months.

 

It felt like a weight had been lifted.

 

But that had been when she’d been a little bit selfish. Now, she needed to be there for Stiles more than ever. Whether she had a boyfriend or not.

 

“I know my dad will be happy — he _is_ happy. And I should be one hundred percent happy for him in return,” Stiles continued, his thumb absentmindedly tracing circles on the palm of Lydia’s hand.

 

She shivered at his touch, even though she didn’t even think he was aware he was doing it.

 

“But I also know that my mom would be distraught if she knew what was happening.”

 

“Stiles,” Lydia replied. “She wouldn’t think of it like that. Your dad is moving on and loving someone again. Your mom … passed away so long ago now. Do you think that Allison would be irritated that I’d become friends with Kira and Malia? Do you think she’d be angry that we’re … that you and I are best friends?”

 

“Of course not.”

 

“It’s the same for your mom,” Lydia insisted. “She would want your dad to be happy. And he is! I mean, Melissa’s got him _running_.”

 

“You know about that?”

 

She shrugged — as best as she could while laying on the ground. “She tells me a lot.” She paused, then added, “Which is why I was kind of surprised when you mentioned your date. Melissa hadn’t told me you’re with someone.”

 

Stiles looked up at the sky. “She doesn’t tell you everything, then.”

 

Lydia found herself becoming irritated. Quickly. She pulled her hand back from his and joined it with her own. The moment had passed anyway. She no longer needed to be comforting him.

 

“ _You’re_ supposed to tell me that stuff,” Lydia snapped, “not Melissa. We’re supposed to be friends and I didn’t even know that you’re _dating_ someone?”

 

“I know,” he said, sighing. “I know.”

 

“What’s she like?”

 

He was quiet for a long time. With Stiles, that could mean anything. She waited, laid back down again, looked up at the stars. She could name a few constellations and asterisms; she’d taken three astronomy electives during college, mostly for fun and because she’d had some spare time.

 

“You haven’t talked about Elliot much,” Stiles pointed out, apparently choosing to ignore her question.

 

“And _you’re_ clearly avoiding my question,” she retorted.

 

But she kind of understood. Just like Stiles didn’t want to talk about the girl he was dating, she didn’t want to talk about Elliot.

 

“Look,” she said, pointing at the moon. “It looks like it’s going to be a new moon tonight.”

 

Stiles followed her gaze to the moon, where they could see a tiny sliver of the moon on the clear night, on its way to being completely invisible.

 

“What does a new moon mean?”

 

She shifted on the ground, clearing her throat. “Lots of things: spiritually and astrologically, it can mean a new beginning. It’s really quite symbolic. Time to think about the future. It can also mean second chances. Forgiveness and moving on. Starting new.”

 

“Well, that’s … apt,” Stiles said. “What else?”

 

“Astronomically speaking, it’s when the earth is situated between the earth and the sun, causing it to be invisible to us. So, they’re all aligned with each other.”

 

“And supernaturally?”

 

“Not much,” she answered. “A new moon is a time to start fresh, so I suppose, if you’re thinking about it, it could mean new arrivals.”

 

“Great,” Stiles remarked dryly. “Just in time to ruin my dad’s wedding.”

 

“The likelihood is slim to none.”

 

“Lydia,” Stiles said with a groan, “this is Beacon Hills. You can’t say things like that.”

 

“Okay,” she countered, pursing her lips, “maybe it could mean new alliances. Old enemies turning over a new leaf and being on our side. For once.”

 

They watched as the moon disappeared completely, the tiny sliver no longer visible. New beginnings. Second chances. She was letting go of her frustration over Stiles. She was understanding all of it.

 

“That constellation up there is the Big Dipper,” Stiles said, pointing at a line of stars. “See those stars?”

 

“I do,” Lydia said, “but you’re wrong. There’s only four stars there. The Big Dipper is actually over there —” She took his hand, straightening out his finger and pointing it at the shape of the Big Dipper to the left of them — “where there are seven stars altogether.”

 

“There’s Libra over there,” Stiles said, pointing to a cluster of stars above them. “And I think that’s one the Pork Chopper. Right over there. See that?”

 

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Do you know anything about constellations?”

 

“Absolutely nothing,” Stiles replied, gleeful. “But you obviously do. How do you know this stuff anyway?”

 

“I took a few astronomy electives in college,” she explained, “and I was Vice President of the Astronomy Society for a year. They needed someone to fill in.”

 

Stiles laughed. She loved that, with him, she never had to hide just how much of a nerd she _actually_ was. She could be totally honest and it never fazed him.

 

“Of _course_ you were.”

 

“I honestly thought you would have known —” she began, only to be cut off by Stiles’s phone blaring out “Hey Brother” by Avicii.

 

“It’s Scott,” he explained, fumbling for his phone in his pocket. “That’s his ringtone.”

 

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Answer it. It might be important if he’s calling this late.”

 

Stiles did as he was told. Lydia half-listened as Stiles _mm-hmm_ ed and okayed, but it seemed like Scott was the one talking the most. Suddenly, Stiles sat up and Lydia focused her attention on him.

 

“Right now?” he asked. “Do you really think we need to? I mean — they might not be a threat. Maybe they’re just … coming into town for the party?”

 

He listened for a few seconds and Lydia propped herself up on her elbows, feeling weirdly like they’d been caught doing something they shouldn’t have been.

 

“Okay, okay,” Stiles said finally. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

 

He hung up the phone and turned to face her.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

After many years, she had experience with his _oh-God-something’s-happening_ face.

 

“We need to get out of here and go back to Scott’s,” he said, getting to his feet quickly and extending a hand to help her up.

 

She took it, dusting herself down when she was standing upright. “Why?”

 

“A pack,” he told her, shoving his phone into his pocket and reaching for his keys. As he began walking back to his car, Lydia followed him.

 

“A pack of what?”

 

This time, there was no enjoyment as they hoisted themselves over the gate. They just did as quickly as possible. Lydia twisted her ankle a little bit on the landing and winced, but when Stiles looked back at her, she walked on. There were more important things to be worrying about now.

 

Stiles sighed. “We don’t know. I guess that new moon thing isn’t just symbolic, huh?”

 

___________________________________

 

 

There was an unspoken agreement between them that their little outing to the field, as far as everyone else was concerned, hadn’t happened.

 

Lydia knew that everyone knowing about it would just complicate things. The truth was that nobody really knew what she needed from Stiles — herself included.

 

She just knew that since leaving Scott’s house an hour earlier with Stiles, she felt fuller. Happier.

 

But they knew that their friends wouldn’t understand. Nobody would be judgemental — the pack were past judgements of each other — but they just … didn’t understand that Stiles and Lydia were emotionally tethered to each other.

 

They’d brought each other from the dead.

 

That was a bond that couldn’t be explained.

 

Now, Stiles parked outside Scott’s house. A few of the lights were on downstairs. Lydia unbuckled her seatbelt first.

 

“I guess I can go in first,” she suggested.

 

“We’re not hiding anything,” Stiles answered. But then he added, “Why don’t you say you’ve been for a walk?”

 

“At one in the morning, Stiles?”

 

He looked over at the house, but said nothing.

 

She opened the car door and got out, heading up the pathway to Scott’s house without looking back. She hadn’t heard any car doors, so she assumed that Stiles hadn’t left his car to follow her.

 

She opened the front door quietly, listening out for any voices, but she couldn’t hear anything. She slipped into the house, arriving in the kitchen just as she heard voices approaching.

 

She leaned up against the counter as Scott, along with Kira and Malia, appeared in the doorway.

 

“Okay,” Malia was in the process of saying, “but I still don’t understand why we have to get up in the middle of the night to deal with it.”

 

“Because it’s _bad_ , Malia, because this could —” Scott stopped when he saw Lydia in the kitchen. “Lydia? When did you come downstairs? I knocked on your door for ten minutes. Quietly, though, because I didn’t want to wake Elliot.”

 

“I just got here,” Lydia said, not untruthfully. She added, “From upstairs.”

 

“You’re fully dressed,” Malia said. She was wearing pyjamas and a eye mask pushed onto her forehead that said _Fuck off_ in cursive writing.

 

“Yep,” Lydia said, frowning. “I thought I’d be ready.”

 

Malia frowned back at her. “Why do you have grass in your hair?”

 

“I …” Lydia began, wondering how she was going to talk her way out of that one.

 

Luckily, she didn’t need to. The front door opened and Stiles wandered through, meeting her eye from across the room. There were a few creases in his plaid shirt from where he’d been laying on the ground, and he had some grass on his shoulder.

 

“There you are,” Scott said to Stiles.

 

“Did I miss anything?” Stiles asked.

 

His cheeks were pink.

 

“I was just briefing Malia and Kira,” Scott informed him.

 

“Where have you been, Stiles?” Kira asked. She frowned, confused. “Scott said you weren’t at your house.”

 

Stiles shrugged. “I went for a walk.”

 

“At one o’clock?” Kira asked. “ _Tonight_? Of all nights?”

 

“You have grass on your shoulder,” Malia pointed out, glancing over at Lydia as she said this.

 

Everyone fell silent. Lydia felt like it was utterly, utterly obvious. But then … _what_ was obvious?

 

“We have more important things to be thinking about now,” Scott finally said, breaking the silence in the room. “Liam was on his way home and he thought he saw some kind of pack in town, lurking around.”

 

“Like a neighbourhood-friendly pack who are looking for a party tomorrow night?” Stiles asked hopefully.

 

Lydia stifled a smile. It was just like him to attempt to make light of a clearly serious situation.

 

“Unfortunately not,” Scott replied, only glancing at Stiles slightly disapprovingly. He seemed otherwise too distracted and concerned to pay Stiles’s joke much attention. “Liam said that they didn’t look friendly.”

 

“Are _any_ supernaturals friendly?” Stiles asked, then added a pause, “Apart from … you guys, of course. You’re the friendliest people I know.”

 

“Nice save,” Malia retorted, scowling at him before she turned to look back at Scott. “What are we supposed to do about this pack? Especially right now — when we should be _sleeping_.”

 

“Malia’s right,” Lydia agreed. “There doesn’t seem like much we can do right now. Unless you’re considering fighting them right now — which, by the way, seems ridiculous. We can’t start a war.”

 

“Not tonight,” Stiles added, nodding. “We’d be _super_ tired tomorrow.”

 

“We don’t know much about them right now,” Scott conceded, “but we should be on the lookout tomorrow for any danger. We need to stay vigilant.”

 

“Couldn’t you have just told us this in the morning?” Malia asked, groaning.

 

“We won’t see each other until we get to the church and it didn’t seem like something that would translate easily over text,” Scott said, sighing. “Look, I’m just trying to protect everyone. Especially Noah and my mom.”

 

“We _all_ want to protect them,” Lydia agreed.

 

“And we’ll do whatever it takes to do that,” Kira promised. “We’re not going to let anything happen to Noah or Melissa.”

 

“So, why do we think they’ve come into town?” Stiles asked. “I mean, it can’t just be random. Unless it’s the new moon — you know, that’s symbolic of new beginnings.”

 

They all looked at Stiles, confused.

 

Lydia ignored him, instead examining her nails.

 

“How do you know that?” Malia asked. “That’s the kind of thing Lydia would know. Not you.”

 

“Hey!” Stiles frowned. “I know that kind of thing.”

 

Lydia cleared her throat. “I told him earlier.”

 

Malia looked at them both, then said, “That makes more sense.”

 

“Anyway, Liam said they were coming in from the road heading north out of town — about twenty-five minutes away,” Scott explained. “There’s nothing out there apart from a bunch of fields that are empty. I don’t know, maybe they lived on the land.”

 

Lydia’s eyes widened and she felt her stomach drop.

 

“They live on the land?” she asked, trying not to look panicked in case it alerted the others.

 

“They could,” Scott shrugged. “Those fields are so far out, we never check them on patrol. It would be pretty easy for a pack to set up camp there and be perfectly happy until someone disturbed them and they felt they had to defend their territory.”

 

“Defend their territory?” Stiles repeated, nervously catching Lydia’s eye. She felt just as concerned as he looked.

 

“Are you two just going to repeat everything Scott says?” Malia asked, narrowing her eyes at them.

 

“Just … trying to get my head around it,” Lydia replied. “But why would they feel like they needed to defend their land? And why now? People use those fields constantly.”

 

“They do?” Kira asked.

 

“Maybe,” Lydia replied weakly.

 

“Look,” Stiles broke in. He was desperate to keep the peace. “We don’t know anything for certain yet. We don’t know why they might be coming, we don’t even know _if_ they are coming. For now, it’s all just speculation — so maybe we should all go to sleep, get some rest, and stay alert tomorrow.”

 

Scott nodded. “I agree. We can keep each other updated tomorrow through the day.”

 

As Malia yawned loudly and announced she was going back to sleep, closely followed by Kira, Scott turned to Stiles and Lydia.

 

“Anything you two might know about this?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

Lydia shook her head. She dared not verbally deny it in case her heartbeat gave away her lie. Stiles did the same.

 

“Okay,” Scott said finally. “Stiles, you’re coming with me. Okay?”

 

Stiles nodded, but Scott left the room first, apparently figuring out that they needed some time alone. Lydia suspected Scott had already worked out exactly what was going on, but lying to her alpha was something Lydia would deal with later.

 

Right now, she felt nerves hit her in waves. She felt sick as she turned to Stiles, who immediately stepped towards her.

 

“Lydia,” he said, his voice low in case Scott was listening in from outside. “We don’t know anything for sure yet. And even if it _is_ the case, this isn’t your fault. It’s mine — okay?”

 

“We were _both_ there,” Lydia corrected him. “What if they —”

 

He stepped towards her again, hesitating before he reached out to her. She felt the soft material of his shirt underneath her hands, brushing against her arms, smooth against her face as his arms enveloped her.

 

“Let’s not think about it right now. There’s no point in freaking ourselves out.”

 

She could hear his steady heartbeat as she rested her head against his sturdy chest.

 

She could _feel_ that something bad was coming.

 

“Stiles,” she whispered.

 

“Yeah?”

 

When he spoke, she could feel the vibrations running through him. She tightened her grip around him.

 

“What the hell have we done?”


	8. 7 hours before

Living in San Francisco and having spent many years living away from Beacon Hills meant that Stiles had forgotten what the persistent threat of death felt like.

 

Now that he knew again, he wished he didn’t.

 

He hadn’t slept at all.

 

He’d been thinking several things over in his head.

 

The first, most important thing, he had been wondering how he could have prevented angering a pack of werewolves — or whatever they were — and giving them the opportunity to potentially ruin his dad’s wedding.

 

Well, he could have _not_ taken Lydia out and gone to the field they’d spent hours of their senior year on.

 

But … that field had sentimental value to them. He’d known it would be the only place they could go where they _both_ felt something.

 

The second thing — coincidentally related to that first thing — was how he had  _totally_ and spectacularly bottled telling Lydia how he felt. He’d just been looking at her, thinking about what he could say to her, before he realised he didn’t even know what he  _would_ say.

 

_Hey, Lydia, don’t marry that guy. Don’t marry Elliot because, you know, twelve years ago ... we kissed. And don’t you think that kind of meant something?_

 

He’d barely been able to admit it to himself. He wasn’t ready to let her in on it too.

 

He’d totally chickened out for fear that Lydia would make her excuses and he’d never see her again. At least, not in the same way.

 

Ugh. It was all such a mess. Everything.

 

Lydia. The werewolves.

 

Besides, how was he to know that some werewolves had set up camp on that same field?

 

 _If_ Scott’s theory was even true — they just didn’t know yet.

 

He hadn’t slept because of many reasons. But also because he’d been worried about Lydia, and how she was worried about it. He knew that she would be blaming herself and he’d left several messages on her phone, trying to reassure her that things would be okay.

 

In reality, he had no idea if things would be okay. He just didn’t want her to panic; she’d been planning this wedding for months. She’d obsessed over every detail. She’d put her heart and soul into ensuring it would be the perfect day for Noah and Melissa, and he needed to make sure that she wasn’t stressed too.

 

It was 5 a.m. when Stiles eventually decided to just get up. He’d been lying awake for hours, just staring at the ceiling, thinking about Lydia. Then, thinking about the wedding. Then, thinking about Lydia.

 

When he got downstairs, his phone started buzzing in his hand. He answered it immediately when he saw Lydia’s name and photo — his contact photo of her had been taken when they’d been sophomores in college and he’d been visiting MIT, she was laughing at something he’d said and he snapped a photo of her to capture the moment — flash up on his screen.

 

“Lydia?” he said, the relief evident in his voice.

 

“Hey,” she answered, her voice low and quiet. “Everyone’s still sleeping so I can’t talk loudly. You called me and left some messages — what’s up?”

 

“You haven’t listened to the messages?”

 

“Not yet,” she replied. “Is it important? Did you find out anything about the pack?”

 

“Uh, _yes_ it’s important,” he said, annoyed that she hadn’t even listened to them. “I’ve been thinking about it all night. How are you?”

 

“I’m okay,” she said, but she didn’t _sound_ okay. He was well-attuned to Lydia’s emotions and he knew what she sounded like when she was putting on a brave face. He knew her well enough to know that she’d have been worrying too.

 

“Look,” he continued, suddenly feeling the need to fix things and reassure her. “We’re going to figure it out, okay? We always figure it out — we _always_ narrowly escape death and the destruction of the town. We’ll do it again.”

 

“That just … fills me with confidence,” Lydia replied. She sighed. “We did something awful. We _have_ to come clean.”

 

“We don’t have to do anything until we know for sure what’s going on,” he said, trying to remain rational.

 

It wouldn’t do anybody any good if they all started panicking and imagining the worst — they hadn’t survived this long by panicking and jumping to conclusions whenever a new threat showed up in town.

 

“Stiles, this is _our_ fault,” Lydia told him. “Just like the Nemeton, _we_ caused this. Us, specifically.”

 

“Yeah,” he agreed flatly, “I know.”

 

They were both quiet for a few, long seconds as they considered their options.

 

Finally, Stiles suggested: “We could always run away. We’ll rent a car so that nobody can trace us and we’ll drive to … to Mexico. Or we’ll head somewhere really remote, where nobody will ever find us. We’ll be like Thelma and Louise, except hopefully without the death.”

 

“I feel like you should have gone with Bonnie and Clyde,” Lydia said dryly. “But I know what you mean. It _is_ tempting to just leave.”

 

“As long as you take me with you,” he replied.

 

Stiles heard footsteps on the stairs and he took a seat at the kitchen table.

 

“Listen, Lydia. Just … don’t do anything yet, okay? Help Melissa get ready, just act like normal.” He kept his voice low. “I’ll see you at the church in a few hours. Okay?”

 

“Okay,” she agreed. “Be careful.”

 

“You too,” he said, just as Scott appeared the bottom of the stairs. “I gotta go. I’ll see you later.”

 

He hung up the phone, attempting to look as nonchalant and casual as possible as he smiled at Scott.

 

“Hey,” he said. “Today’s the day.”

 

Scott ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “It doesn’t feel like an occasion to be happy about — I spent the entire night thinking about what could happen if this pack decides to gatecrash the wedding. Chaos, for one thing. They would ruin the day at the very least. What happens if they’re out for blood, Stiles?”

 

“Then we’ll offer them a drink and negotiate a treaty,” Stiles replied, even slightly too optimistically for him. He felt guilt wash over him like waves — he knew it was _his_ fault if anything happened at the wedding.

 

He wanted to confide in Scott, he wanted more than anything to tell Scott so that they could figure out a way to fix things, but he also knew that Scott had enough to worry about. He didn’t want to add to his distress.

 

Besides, they didn’t even know if it was true yet. It was all just speculation. He repeated it in his head like a mantra as he looked over at Scott, who’d headed over to the coffeemaker. His best friend looked tired; he was rubbing his eyes, staring at the coffeemaker blearily.

 

“Scott,” he began, “everything will be okay. They have to be. We’ve dealt with worse …”

 

“Yeah, but not on a day like this,” Scott said flatly. He looked at Stiles. “It’s taken so long for our parents to find happiness. I just don’t want anything to ruin their day.”

 

“We won’t let it,” Stiles promised him. “We’ll figure it out.”

 

He desperately wanted it to be true. _Desperately._ Even if he had to personally stop it.

 

___________________________________

 

Lydia looked over at Elliot’s sleeping form beside her and tried to ignore the feeling in the pit of her stomach — the feeling of guilt.

 

Of course she felt guilty about the pack of werewolves who were possibly in town because of _her_ , but even more so than that … she felt guilty that she’d been out running around town with someone who _wasn’t_ her fiancé during the night.

 

And she felt even guiltier that, as she’d laid on the field next to Stiles — so close that she could touch his hand — she hadn’t thought about Elliot at all. The only thing she’d been thinking about was the boy who had been lying right next to her, not the boy who had been asleep in the guest room at Scott’s house, waiting for her to come home.

 

When she had woken up startlingly early — 5:15 a.m., which meant she’d had something like three hours of sleep — she’d rolled over to see Elliot, still asleep, and she’d wondered if he’d woken up during the night to find her not there.

 

She wondered just how she’d explain that to him if he asked.

 

 _Oh, you know_ , she thought, _I was just with Stiles. Driving around town in the middle of the night — oh yeah, we also went to a field we call “our field.” And then when we came back, we found out that an angry pack of werewolves have crossed the border into Beacon Hills. And it’s very possible that Stiles and I trespassed through their territory, and that “our field” is no longer ours, it’s actually theirs, and they might kill us for it._

 

She’d crept downstairs for a glass of water and to call Stiles, who had left her fifteen messages on her phone overnight _and_ text her thirty-two times. Her conversation with him had left her feeling just _slightly_ better about the entire situation, but she ached to tell someone.

 

She wasn’t used to having something to keep to herself. She’d forgotten what it felt like, hiding the supernatural from those who didn’t know.

 

After Stiles hung up the phone, she filled up a glass and returned to the guest room. It was still early and she didn’t need to get up just yet; the house was still silent. She was the only person awake.

 

She rolled over in bed and covered her eyes with her arms strewn over her face, just as her alarm started loudly buzzing on her phone.

 

Now it really _was_ time to get up and start getting ready.

 

Beside her, Elliot groaned. “Turn it off.”

 

She reached out to the alarm and pressed the home button on her phone to silence it. She stared at the ceiling for a few seconds before she pushed herself up and out of bed.

 

Melissa emerged from the room she’d been staying in at the same time as Lydia. They both looked at each other from across the hallway.

 

“I can’t believe it,” Melissa said gleefully, “I’m getting married today. I’m getting freaking _married_ today!”

 

Lydia forced a weak, unconvincing smile. “So exciting!”

 

Luckily, Melissa didn’t seem to notice that Lydia looked physically in pain rather than happy. Her mind was too pre-occupied to notice and she disappeared back into her room, busying about and whistling loudly, happily to herself.

 

Lydia wished she could guarantee that Melissa would remain that happy all day, but for now she had a job to do. She slipped on her bath robe and padded downstairs, pushing open the doors to the living room and opening the curtains to let the light in.

 

Both Malia and Kira, still half-asleep on the pull-out couch, groaned loudly and immediately covered their eyes from the light.

 

“Are you trying to kill us?” Malia mumbled.

 

“No,” Lydia said slowly, “I’m trying to _wake_ you.”

 

“It’s too early to be woken.”

 

“It’s six-ten,” Lydia said flatly. “We need to get ready. We all need to shower and get ready for the hair and make-up guys. They’ll be here soon.”

 

“Eight!” Kira said, sitting up. “They said they’d be here at eight.”

 

“This is the schedule,” Lydia told them both, “and this is what we’re sticking to.”

 

She _needed_ this part to go to plan. That way, if the rest of the day was ruined by the werewolves, she could say that _this_ part — her main responsibility — was smooth and easy.

 

She left Malia and Kira to wake up properly, before she headed into the kitchen to make coffee for everyone. To her surprise, Elliot was already in there. He’d dressed down for the morning in a T-shirt, jeans and his favourite pair of loafers — okay, so Elliot’s idea of “casual” wasn’t really other people’s idea of casual — and he was already making coffee.

 

“I thought I’d beat you to it,” he commented as she walked in, “while you’re rounding up the troops.”

 

“Thanks,” she said, sliding in beside him and kissing him on the cheek.

 

“You go get showered and ready for the hair and make-up,” he said to her. “I’m fine here.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Yep,” he replied. “Go. Otherwise you’ll be fighting people for the shower.”

 

She kissed him again, before she jogged up the stairs to grab a towel. On the way, she passed by Melissa’s room. Melissa was sitting at the end of the bed and she looked up, hearing Lydia there.

 

“Hey,” Lydia said. “Are you okay?”

 

Melissa nodded. “Yeah. I’m so excited.”

 

“Good,” Lydia answered, smiling. “It’s all going to be great. I promise.”

 

“Thanks, Lydia. For everything,” Melissa said. “You know, it won’t be long until it’s you in this position. Getting married.”

 

Lydia nodded. “I know.”

 

She remembered her promise to Elliot: after this weekend, she’d start planning their wedding. For some reason, the thought filled her with slight panic.

 

Melissa sighed, smiling. “I just can’t believe it’s really happening! Today, I’m marrying my best friend. How many people can say that?”

 

Lydia’s smile faltered just a little bit. An image of Stiles flashed through her mind. Her best friend.

 

She looked back at Melissa. It felt wrong to agree with her, or to say anything at all. The last thing she wanted was for Melissa to be concerned about her on her wedding day.

 

She thought perhaps Melissa would be waiting for an answer, but thankfully it appeared to be a rhetorical question. Melissa stood up, grabbing a towel, and Lydia didn’t have to admit that, actually, she was one of the people who definitely couldn’t say that she was marrying her best friend.

 

___________________________________

 

Stiles straightened his bow tie and stared at himself in the mirror. He’d had hardly a minute to himself since his dad had woken up and they’d started prepping for the wedding — which, so far, had involved eating heaped plates of eggs and downing cups of coffee to wake themselves up properly — but now, he stood in his room, and found himself alone.

 

He’d showered and had managed to get half-dressed before his mind started to wander again.

 

He sent a message to Lydia. _You okay?_

 

It was the fifth message he’d sent to her in a row, all spaced about fifteen minutes apart, and the irony didn’t escape him that _he_ was the one who now had trouble getting hold of her.

 

He saw in the reflection of the mirror as Scott came into the room, knocking on his door and disturbing his thoughts.

 

“Came to see how you’re doing,” Scott said. He was holding his own bow tie in one hand.

 

“Good,” Stiles answered, turning to face him. “Is this crooked?”

 

“Yeah,” Scott nodded. Stiles turned back to the mirror, yanking on it again. “So, uh, I didn’t want to ask you this earlier. I didn’t want to know if you were lying to me or not … but I have to ask. Stiles, do you know anything about this pack of werewolves coming our way? More than you’re letting on?”

 

Stiles focused on himself in the mirror, then let his shoulders drop. “Scott —”

 

“If you know something,” Scott continued, “just … just tell me you’ve figured out a way to fix it.”

 

“It’s under control.”

 

“It is?” Scott asked. Stiles nodded. He was almost afraid to say anything aloud. “Is Lydia in on the plan, or is it just you handling things?”

 

“Scott —”

 

“It’s really none of my business, Stiles,” Scott interrupted, shaking his head. He seemed almost … disappointed. “But I hope you know what you’re doing. She’s engaged. She’s getting _married_.”

 

“Yeah, and she’s also our _friend_.”

 

Scott raised an eyebrow like Stiles had just made a joke. Stiles felt himself flush furiously. He felt so … _seen._

 

“I’m just saying to be careful,” Scott repeated calmly. “It isn’t like it used to be. We’re adults now. You can’t just take her away from her fiancé and drive her around town in the middle of the night. What might seem innocent to you might not seem that way to her fiancé.”

 

“It wasn’t like that,” Stiles told him, still tugging at his bow tie and staring at himself in the mirror. He refused to look at Scott, who had settled down at the end of his bed.

 

“But did you _want_ it to be?”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Stiles said finally, whipping around to look at Scott. He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, Scott, because you’re right. She’s _engaged._ She’s getting married to someone else, so who cares if I _wanted_ it to be like that? Honestly, at this point, I don’t even know anymore. I don’t even know. I just want her to be my best friend again. I just want to talk to her the way we always talked. I don’t want this engagement — this _guy_ — to come between us.”

 

Scott nodded sincerely. “You know that you and Lydia have never been just …”

 

Stiles looked away. “Yeah. I know.”

 

“Maybe it’s best to take a step back.”

 

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do,” Stiles said. “That’s why I’ve been avoiding her. There’s no room for both of us — for him _and_ me — in her life. Especially not when, you know, things are the way they are.”

 

Scott said, “Look, I’m proud of you for trying to be selfless and taking that step back, but come on, man. Ignoring her was _not_ the way to do that.”

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

“You look great,” Scott said, getting to his feet.

 

“How long do we have?” Stiles asked.

 

“It’s a little after nine-thirty,” Scott told him. “Four hours to go.”

 

“How’s my dad?” Stiles asked, rubbing his clammy hands together.

 

“You tell me,” Noah said, appearing in his doorway. Noah was fully dressed in his tuxedo, his hair neatly combed into place.

 

Stiles smiled at him. “You look great, Dad. How are you feeling now? Nervous?”

 

“I feel great, son,” Noah said, beaming. “I’m marrying my best friend. I’m the luckiest man alive. Why would I be nervous?”

 

Stiles tried to smile at his father — and he was pleased, he was immensely pleased for him — but he didn’t miss the look that Scott gave him. He knew that Scott understood what he was going through. Somehow, he always did.

 

Stiles didn’t even know exactly what it was that he was going through, but he was just going to try his best to muddle through the weekend.

 

“When do we need to be at the church?”

 

“Not for another few hours,” Noah said. “We’ve got time. Don’t panic, son. Everything is going to plan.”

 

___________________________________

 

“Everything is _not_ going to plan,” Lydia announced. “It’s almost ten and only two people are ready.”

 

“Lydia, calm down,” Melissa said from beside her. Melissa’s eyes were closed as the make-up artist applied eyeshadow onto her eyelids, but the sentiment was there. “Everything is fine. You need to relax — have some champagne.”

 

Lydia sank back into the chair she’d just vacated, jumping up to her feet with panic. The hairstylist, who had been in the middle of weaving a braid around the crown of her head, looked irritated but not surprised.

 

Anyone would think that Lydia was the bride, the way she was stressing over every little detail and Melissa seemed totally relaxed.

 

“Okay,” Lydia said, “sorry. I just … I really think we’re behind schedule.”

 

“Even if we are, it doesn’t matter. It’s not like it can start without me,” Melissa said, grinning.

 

Lydia laughed, taking a big sip of her champagne, as Malia and Kira entered the room. They’d both already been made up and styled. The hairstylist thought it might take her a little bit longer to manage Lydia’s longer, thicker hair and had left her until last, and the makeup artist had been adamant that she would do the bride’s makeup last so that she didn’t feel pressured to work fast and risk messing up.

 

So, as it stood, Kira and Malia were ready to go.

 

Lydia just needed her hair to be styled — which was only taking forever because she kept panicking and disappearing halfway through to do something else “super quickly” — and Melissa’s makeup was almost finished.

 

“Are you ready now?” the hairstylist asked, sounding slightly irritated.

 

“Yes,” Lydia replied, “sorry.”

 

“Great,” she answered. “You’re almost done.”

 

“Okay,” Lydia said, feeling like if she got up again, the hairstylist would refuse to finish it. She looked up at her friends, who looked beautiful. “You guys look great. Those dresses are perfect.”

 

Kira twirled in hers. “I feel like I could still hide my sword in here somewhere. There’s so many layers.”

 

There was a moment’s silence as the makeup artist and hairstylist both heard this and exchanged a look.

 

“I mean, um,” Kira continued, “my … virtual sword. If my avatar on, uh, the game we were playing yesterday. I could fit my virtual sword …”

 

“Okay,” Malia interrupted, unable to listen to Kira’s rambling any longer. “Stop.”

 

“Thanks,” Kira murmured.

 

“No weapons at the wedding please,” Melissa said dryly.

 

Lydia looked away, wondering if perhaps they _would_ need Kira’s sword after all. They had to protect themselves somehow. At that moment, distracting her from her thoughts, her phone started buzzing in her pocket.

 

She rooted around for it and pulled it out, frowning at Stiles’s name and contact photo on her phone. The photo was the stupidest one she could find of him, where he’d been pulling the silliest face and wore an old George Washington sweatshirt and sweatpants.

 

She’d taken it late at night in his college dorms, while they’d been in the middle of a 23-hour long _Star Wars_ marathon. She remembered taking the photo. It was the middle of the night. They’d both started to flag and had paused the movies to wake themselves up with caffeine and terrible jokes.

 

She swiped at her screen to answer the call.

 

“Stiles,” she said. “How’s it going?”

 

“It’s okay,” he answered. “I was worried about you. You weren’t answering your phone.”

 

She pulled her phone away from her ear to see that Stiles had indeed been leaving voicemails and texts all morning.

 

“Sorry,” she said, “it’s been busy here over. The process is _long._ Where are you?”

 

“At my dad’s,” he said. “Everything okay on your end?”

 

Lydia was aware she was in a room full of people who had no idea what her and Stiles had done. She was also aware that she couldn’t excuse herself from the room to tell Stiles the truth — that she was still freaking out over the whole thing — in case the stylist point-blank refused to continue fixing her hair afterwards.

 

She didn’t want to walk down the aisle with only half a braided crown. It would just look ridiculous.

 

“Everything’s fine,” she said brightly, hoping he might detect in her voice that she couldn’t tell the truth.

 

“Are you … okay? You sound kind of weird.”

 

“Stiles,” she said, sighing, “I’m kind of busy right now. I’ll talk to you at the church, okay? Everything’s okay. I promise.”

 

She hung up and placed the phone on the chair beside her, only to find that Melissa, Malia and Kira were all looking at her, bemused.

 

“What?” she asked, confused.

 

“What do you mean _what_?” Malia demanded. “Was that Stiles you were talking to or your _fiancé_?”

 

“It was _Stiles_ , obviously,” she told them. “Why?”

 

“Malia means that the way you were talking to Stiles was …” Kira trailed off, glancing around the room like Elliot might pop up out of nowhere.

 

Lydia didn’t feel worried about him overhearing the conversation — he’d been ready for hours and had taken a walk around the neighbourhood to give the women some space.

 

“Like he was what?”

 

“You know Lydia, for a genius, you can be kind of dumb,” Malia said to her.

 

“Malia!”

 

“It’s true!” Malia replied, shooting a look back over to Kira, who had admonished her. “God, do we have to spell it out for you? You were just talking to Stiles like _he’s_ your boyfriend, not Elliot. Who, by the way, you have almost _totally_ ignored since being here.”

 

Lydia stared back at her friends, open-mouthed and more than a little shocked.

 

“That’s a … little harsh, Malia,” Kira grimaced.

 

“But true,” Malia added, reaching for her glass of champagne and knocking it back. She licked her lips afterwards, shrugging. “Sorry, Lydia. You know I love you, but it’s the truth.”

 

“No,” Lydia waved her away, shaking her head. “It’s …”

 

She didn’t know how to finish that sentence. It _wasn’t_ okay, but not because of what Malia had said. She actually appreciated Malia’s candour. Malia had just forced her to think about something that she’d been avoiding all morning — or, really, _truthfully_ , since she’d been back in Beacon Hills.

 

And that was that all of her attention had been focused on either the wedding or on Stiles. _Mostly_ Stiles.

 

“Okay,” the stylist said, “you’re all done. You want to take a look?”

 

She passed the handheld mirror to Lydia, who examined the beautiful creation the stylist had taken — whoops — an hour to create. She’d woven a thick braid across the crown of Lydia’s head and pulled it loose, so it looked effortless and casual but intricate, too. She’d also pulled out wisps of hair around Lydia’s face and the red curls framed her face perfectly.

 

As the final touch, the stylist added a sprig of baby’s breath and tucked it into the braid.

 

“It’s perfect,” Lydia said, “thank you.”

 

Shortly after the stylist had finished off with her hair, the makeup artist revealed her final look for Melissa. When Melissa opened her eyes and looked at the women in front of her, they all — even Malia — drew in their breath sharply, all floored by how she looked.

 

“You look incredible!”

 

“Melissa, you look gorgeous.”

 

“Noah is going to go _crazy_ when he sees you.”

 

An hour later, Melissa’s dress was on, her veil was positioned perfectly and her bridesmaids were all ready to go. It was almost time for the wedding.

 

Lydia cast her fears about werewolves and thoughts about Stiles aside. Melissa was getting _married._ And that was the most important thing to think about — not some silly threat that might not even happen.


	9. 5 minutes before

Stiles touched his father’s shoulder reassuringly as the music started up and the guests all turned around in their seats, waiting expectantly.

 

Malia walked down the aisle first, finding her boyfriend in the crowd and grinning over at him, before she looked at Scott, Stiles and Noah all standing at the top of the altar. She winked at them.

 

Kira emerged from behind her, looking nervous as she smiled at her friends.

 

Everyone else was waiting for Melissa, but Stiles found himself most nervous to see Lydia. When she appeared from the double doors, his breath hitched. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

 

Her eyes searched the congregation and he felt that all-too-familiar sense of crushing realisation as she found Elliot amongst the guests, smiling at him. But then, amazingly, she glanced over at Stiles.

 

Malia and Kira had already reached the altar, and Melissa had started walking somewhere behind Lydia, but Stiles’s eyes were only on Lydia: the woman he’d been _slightly_ obsessing over for twelve years.

 

When she looked at him, she smiled. It was that little half-smile she always did when she felt shy; she bit her lip and looked away, suppressing a smile. He loved that he could still make her smile like that. It made him feel all jittery.

 

Lydia reached the altar and stood beside Kira, across from him, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Even when Melissa joined Noah at the altar, passed her flowers back to Lydia, and joined hands with Noah — Stiles still craned his neck to see Lydia.

 

He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

 

The pastor ran through the usual service stuff. Stiles tried to listen but he tuned out a few times, tuning back in to listen to his dad’s and Melissa’s vows.

 

His dad began: “It feels like I’ve been waiting to feel happiness again for a lifetime. I’ve been by myself — or, at least, just Stiles and me — for so long that it started to feel like that was the way it was _supposed_ to be. But then you came along. Neither of us felt it at first, but I can’t tell you how … _nice_ it was to talk to someone, to have companionship.

 

“I think we’re both in agreement that it’s been a long time coming and perhaps we wasted many years by not being together, but I’m just so happy that I finally get to marry you — my best friend, my best friend for … ten years now — and call you my wife. It’s about damn time.”

 

Standing across from him, Stiles caught Lydia’s eye. She swiped underneath her eyes, blinking to banish the tears, and he smiled at her.

 

Then, it was Melissa’s turn.

 

“Noah,” she began, her eyes welling with tears too. “I never imagined that I would find this. I never imagined that I would end up falling in love with my best friend, with the one person I can talk to about anything, with the one person who just … understands everything. Nothing I ever say or do is crazy. Nothing my _son_ ever does is crazy. You take it all in your stride. I can’t think of anyone I would rather spend the rest of my life with.”

 

Stiles smiled at his dad and Melissa as the pastor thanked them for sharing their vows and asked for the rings. Stiles stepped up. This was the one responsibility he had been given and he’d guarded those rings with his life.

 

He handed them over to his dad, who winked at him, and Noah and Melissa placed the rings on each other’s fingers.

 

“You may now kiss the bride! Congratulations!” the pastor announced and the congregation clapped and cheered as Noah and Melissa kissed.

 

“Thank God,” Stiles muttered to Scott.

 

“What did you think they were going to do?”

 

Stiles shrugged. “March in just when the pastor asked if anyone had any reason to stop the wedding?”

 

Scott seemed amused, watching as their parents walked down the aisle to loud cheers and clapping.

 

“Just another few hours to go,” Scott said. “We need to stay vigilant.”

 

With Melissa and Noah far up the other end of the aisle, Lydia, Malia and Kira joined them.

 

“Safe for now,” Lydia said, looking at Stiles.

 

“Well,” he replied, feeling his arm brush against hers, “it’s just another —”

 

“Hey, babe!” Elliot’s voice called from the second pew. He lifted a hand to wave at Lydia, and she threw her friends an apologetic look.

 

“Sorry,” she said. “I’ll catch up with you guys later. Keep me posted.”

 

Stiles watched silently as Lydia made her way to her fiancé. Elliot looped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him, and kissed her forehead. He murmured something to her and she looked up at him, smiling widely.

 

Standing beside him, Scott nudged Stiles. “You okay?”

 

Stiles snapped out of it as best as he could. It was his dad’s wedding day. Melissa was officially his stepmother. Wait a second, that meant …

 

“Yeah,” Stiles said wholeheartedly, tearing his eyes away from Lydia and Elliot to look at Scott. “We’re _brothers._ Officially!”

 

He pulled his friend in for a hug and Scott laughed.

 

“So,” Malia said, interrupting their moment. “What now?”

 

“We go to the reception, we enjoy ourselves, we relax,” Stiles said. “We’re never going to have a day like this again. _My_ dad just married _his_ mom. We need to celebrate.”

 

“But the pack —”

 

“Can wait,” Stiles finished Scott’s sentence, shaking his head. “Look, we don’t even know what’s going to happen with them. Why worry about it? Nothing could come of it. They could have just been heading into town to get some groceries.”

 

“Groceries, Stiles? Really?” Scott asked.

 

“Werewolves are not immune to hunger, Scott,” Stiles replied jovially.

 

He watched as Lydia and Elliot walked up the aisle together, chatting away. Even though he should have seen it coming, he felt a surge of something — jealousy? Frustration? — as he watched Lydia walk away with Elliot.

 

Selfishly, he’d kind of hoped that Lydia would spend time with them instead.

 

He should have known she’d go straight to her fiancé — why wouldn’t she? She was here, at the wedding, with _him._

 

“Hey,” Scott said, nudging into him as Malia and Kira began heading up the aisle. “You’re doing the right thing. By giving them space.”

 

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, “doing the right thing sucks.”

 

“We’ll have a good time tonight,” Scott said. It was so unlike Scott to take his mind off a potential threat that Stiles smiled a little bit. Scott was obviously trying to make him feel better.

 

“We will,” Stiles said, mustering up the excitement he knew he should feel. “It’s a party. Let’s go have some fun.”

 

__________________________________

 

Scott lifted his glass up into the air.

 

“ … I couldn’t think of two better, more deserving people to find happiness like my mom and Noah have,” he continued on with his speech. “I can’t tell you how good it feels to look at your mom and see how happy she is, how content she is. You two are perfect for each other. So, cheers. To my mom and Noah.”

 

The rest of the guests lifted their glasses and Stiles caught Scott’s eye. Cheers to being brothers.

 

He also caught Lydia’s eye, who was sitting on the other side of Melissa. She nodded her head at him, before she gazed out into the crowds of wedding guests, finding Elliot. Stiles ignored the lurch in his stomach as Scott sat down and he stood up.

 

They were both the best man and so they were both giving a speech. Stiles had been planning his for months. He had the whole thing memorised.

 

He stood up, clearing his throat. “So, I’m the other best man — the other son. Uh … Most of you probably know my dad as the Sheriff. He’s been the Sheriff of this town since forever. We’ve all been used to him saving us and coming to the rescue for years — and Melissa has been doing the exact same job at the hospital. Because of that, I guess, they came together. They were both constantly putting their necks and jobs on the line to save our asses —” He broke off, grimacing, as the Sheriff sighed — “sorry. To save our … butts. Through that, they formed a friendship that, I’m sure, consisted of them mostly complaining about us kids and what we were putting them through on a daily basis.

 

“And even though my dad has been Sheriff for years, and he _loves_ his job and being in that Sheriff’s station day in, day out, I never saw him happier than when he was hanging around at the hospital with Melissa. It kind of got me thinking about how much they got each other through and how important their friendship was. Everyone’s talked about how great they are as a couple, but I want to toast to their friendship.

 

“They’ve been best friends for as long as I can remember now. I can’t remember a time when they didn’t hang out constantly and just … make each other laugh. You know, when they didn’t hang out at the hospital, when Melissa didn’t bring him a coffee when he was waiting to find out if someone had made it through the night, even though he never asked for one.

 

“Seeing their relationship develop from two friends, hanging out on the graveyard shift, to … seeing them on their wedding day … It’s been incredible. My dad is happier than I’ve seen him in a long, _long_ time because he’s just married his best friend. The person that he can go to about anything. The person he trusts more than anyone.

 

“I think that’s the luckiest thing that can happen to you. The luckiest thing to find. When the person that you’re in love with is also the person you want to hang out with, drink coffee with, the person you want to be on the graveyard shift with … that’s all you need. That’s what _everybody_ wants. Falling in love with your best friend … There’s no greater feeling. I think that when you like someone, like spending time with them, just like _being_ with them, it’s as important as loving them.

 

“Dad and Melissa, I want to toast to your friendship, but I also want to toast to you liking each other as much as you love each other. Thank you.”

 

Stiles sat down as the guests clapped — Malia whooped — and toasted.

 

“Stiles,” Melissa said, sitting on the other side of Noah, “that was beautiful. Thank you.”

 

“Thank you, son,” Noah echoed the sentiment, seeming a little choked up.

 

Stiles just dipped his head nonchalantly, turning to look at Scott, who was looking at him with one of his Scott looks written all over his face.

 

“What now?” Stiles asked, his shoulders slumping.

 

“Your speech.”

 

“I thought it was pretty good, you know. The crowd loved it!” Stiles said. “I think I even saw a tears from a few people. Including Kira.”

 

“Yeah, it was great — romantic, heartfelt, personal.”

 

“Thanks, Scott,” Stiles said, smiling warmly.

 

Then, Scott continued, “And not about Noah and my mom at all.”

 

Stiles’s good mood — which he had _really_ been working on since the wedding reception had started a while ago, determined to enjoy himself and not think about everything else going on — evaporated. His stomach sunk.

 

“What?”

 

“Dude,” Scott said, thankfully keeping his voice low so that Lydia — who only sat a few seats away from them, as they were all at the head table — couldn’t overhear. “You were talking about you and _Lydia_.”

 

“Did you … not hear all the references I made to the Sheriff’s station and the hospital?” Stiles asked, frowning. “I was talking about my dad and Melissa, Scott, come on. Don’t be ridiculous.”

 

“Maybe the references were about our parents, but everything else was about you and Lydia. You were talking about _your_ friendship.”

 

Stiles shook his head. Scott was talking crazy. He’d had this speech planned for _months._ It had nothing to do with Lydia. He hadn’t even been thinking of Lydia when he’d written it. So, what, the _basis_ of the speech had been about friendship? That didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he’d invented Melissa and Noah’s backstory — they _had_ been friends before they’d been a couple.

 

“It was about them,” Stiles said firmly. He locked eyes with Scott. “It was about them. Not her.”

 

“It kind of sounded like it was about her,” Scott said. “That’s all I mean.”

 

The music started up and the DJ introduced Noah and Melissa to the dance-floor. Stiles’s dad and Melissa got their feet and crossed the floor over to the middle of the room, where they started dancing together to the song Lydia had helped pick out.

 

After a few seconds, other couples joined them on the floor. Malia and Zack sashayed into the middle of the floor; Elliot made his way over to Lydia and held out his hand to her.

 

“Laura’s over there,” Scott said, nodding over to Stiles’s date.

 

He felt bad for inviting her now. He should have known he wouldn’t have been able to spend any real time with her. So far, they’d exchanged quick — and awkward — greetings to each other, before Stiles had had to leave to sit at the head table with his family and Lydia.

 

They were almost an hour into the reception — dinner had taken forever, then the speeches were time-consuming too — and Stiles had barely spoken three words to his date.

 

“You’re right,” Stiles said, getting to his feet. “I should dance with her. Hey, you should ask Kira.”

 

“Really?” Scott asked.

 

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “You know, have fun.”

 

Scott nodded thoughtfully. “Okay.”

 

Stiles clapped Scott on the back, beginning to head over to Laura’s table to ask her to dance. Before he could, he leaned down.

 

“It wasn’t about her,” he said quickly, firmly, to Scott.

 

Scott laughed. He clearly didn’t believe him.

 

Stiles made his way over to Laura.

 

“Hey,” he said, smiling down at the pretty, long-legged brunette he’d asked to be his date. She smiled at him. “Do you want to dance with me?”

 

“I’d love to,” she replied.

 

She reached for his outstretched hand and he led her out onto the floor, pulling her closer to him gingerly. He was well aware that he barely even _knew_ this girl, but she was there. For him. The least he could do is tear his thoughts away from Lydia Martin and focus on her for a while.

 

“Sorry that it’s been kind of crazy and we haven’t had the chance to talk,” Stiles said. “I sort of … forgot that I’d have all these best man duties through the reception too. I feel really bad.”

 

“Don’t feel bad,” Laura said, shrugging. “I’m having a great time.”

 

“You are?”

 

“It’s a beautiful wedding,” she said, sounding sincere. “And I loved your speech. I thought it was very moving. Straight from the heart.”

 

“Really?” Stiles smiled involuntarily.

 

 _Laura_ had liked his speech. _She’d_ thought it was cute. _She_ wasn’t questioning who it was actually about. But then Stiles remembered that Laura didn’t know Lydia, nor did she have any idea what their relationship was like. Why would she think it was about anyone other than Noah and Melissa?

 

“You didn’t think it was too … impersonal?” he asked her.

 

“Are you kidding?” Laura looked up at him, her blue eyes widening. “God, no. I thought it was beautiful. I mean, I don’t know … your dad or his wife at all, really, but it sounds like you really _know_ their relationship, you know? You really captured it.”

 

Stiles nodded slowly. “I … guess I do.”

 

She nodded. “I could tell.”

 

“Well, I’m glad you’re having a good time,” he said finally. “I’m glad you came.”

 

“Really?” She seemed pleased.

 

He felt awful for pretty much ignoring her up until the moment he’d asked her to dance. He knew that he couldn’t put his behaviour down to being “busy” — Scott had managed to say hi to everyone. Lydia had gone over to Elliot’s table three times during the meal to quickly talk to him.

 

He’d just been ignoring the fact that he had a date because he was busy thinking about another girl. A girl who certainly wasn’t thinking about him.

 

“Yeah,” he said. “You know, we never got to go for dinner. We planned to, like a billion times, but it never happened.”

 

“Well,” Laura said, “only because you kept cancelling.”

 

“What?” He shook his head. “No, we _both_ rescheduled.”

 

“Maybe,” she said finally, but she seemed doubtful.

 

He looked at her, confused, trying to think back to the times he’d had to reschedule or cancel dates with Laura. He’d definitely cancelled more than once, but he was sure it had been a mutual thing. He remembered specifically cancelling one a few months earlier — shortly after they’d met each other — because of a really good reason, but now he couldn’t recall what the reason had been.

 

“Hi,” said a voice from beside them, jerking Stiles away from his thoughts and, apparently, selective memory.

 

“Lydia,” he said, surprised to see her standing there in her bridesmaid’s dress. Her hair had started to come a little loose from her braid, tendrils of loose hair framing her face.

 

“Can I jump in?” she asked.

 

Laura seemed surprised, but she nodded, dropping her hands from around Stiles’s neck and stepping away.

 

“I’ll get us some drinks,” she said to Stiles.

 

He nodded. “Thank you.”

 

With Laura gone, Lydia stepped into her place. She brushed her hair behind her shoulders and slid her arms around his neck, joining them at the nape. Tentatively, he placed his hands on her hips. He could feel her skin beneath the thin fabric of her dress and he tried to ignore the increasing beating of his heart.

 

“So,” he said, “what’s up?”

 

She glanced to her left. “Elliot asked Kira to dance, so I thought I’d come over here and see if I could steal you away. Was that your date?”

 

He followed her gaze, over to where Elliot and Kira were dancing goofily not too far from them. The pair caught them looking and grinned, before Elliot reached for Kira’s hand and spun her into the middle of the floor, where it was a little more crowded.

 

“Yeah,” he said, his voice croaky. “Her name’s Laura and she’s very nice.”

 

Lydia smiled at him. “I’m sure she is.”

 

“You know,” Stiles replied, his voice firm, “I’m really glad that she’s here. And I’m even _more_ glad that you’ve found someone like Elliot. He’s great. Just great.”

 

Her smile wavered and she narrowed her eyes at him. “Why are you acting weird?”

 

He wondered if he should just be honest with her.

 

“What did you think of my speech?” he asked, instead of being honest with her.

 

“It was great,” she replied easily. “Really. It was beautiful.”

 

He grinned at her. Instead of replying, he grabbed her hand and twirled her around wildly. It was completely out of time to the music, and they were the only ones moving faster than a slow shuffle back and forth, but it made her laugh — and he lived for that.

 

Once he stopped spinning her, she crashed into him and placed her hands on his chest to steady himself. He sort of wanted her to take her hands away from him, only because he was terrified she’d be able to feel that his heart was pounding like _crazy_ at her proximity to him.

 

She cleared her throat and stepped back, away from him, smiling embarrassedly.

 

She rearranged her arms, sliding them around his neck again. Her touch against the back of his neck was like electricity, sending sparks through him.

 

God. What was _wrong_ with him?

 

“So,” he said, desperately needing something to distract him. “I can’t believe they’re _married._ Actually married.”

 

“And, so far, nothing has gone wrong,” Lydia added.

 

“Yet,” Stiles replied, lowering his voice.

 

He saw a flicker of concern cross Lydia’s face, but they’d both been so busy they hadn’t had a chance to talk about the night before. And there was so much he wanted to say to her, not just about the pack of werewolves, but about everything they’d talked about too.

 

“Look,” Lydia said, her voice equally as low and quiet. Just for him to hear. “We didn’t know what we were doing. How were we supposed to know? I think we should just wait it out. _If_ anything happens, we’ll attempt to negotiate.”

 

“That’s a good idea,” Stiles agreed, “but what if they’re alphas? Or … ravenous, I don’t know, were-leopards?”

 

“There aren’t any leopards in California,” Lydia reminded him flatly.

 

“My point is,” Stiles continued, narrowing his eyes at her, “we can’t negotiate with people who don’t want to negotiate. And it’s likely that this little werewolf pack won’t be interested in our apologies.”

 

“Whose side are you on?” Lydia demanded to know. She narrowed her eyes at him. “You keep going back and forth, claiming that we shouldn’t worry, but then saying that they won’t be forgiving.”

 

“Yours,” Stiles told her simply. “I’m on your side. Always.”

 

He’d taken her by surprise. She was in the middle of scowling at him, but at his words, her face cleared and she smiled, then tried to hide it.

 

“I know,” she replied softly. So softly he strained to hear her.

 

At that moment, someone approached them. Stiles didn’t even have to look to know that it was Elliot, back to claim Lydia as his and only his. Lydia’s arms dropped from around Stiles’s neck and she smiled at her fiancé, and Stiles stepped back to allow Elliot to take over.

 

When Stiles eventually forced himself to look at Elliot, he didn’t miss the slightly concerned look Elliot wore on his face. He knew that Elliot felt unsure about their friendship, about the entire situation.

 

Stiles wanted to reassure him desperately that he was okay, he was safe in his relationship with Lydia.

 

Scott’s words flashed through his mind: _You were talking about you and Lydia._

 

Had he been talking about her? He certainly hadn’t written that speech with Lydia in mind, but maybe Lydia Martin always managed to find a way to sneak into his subconscious. She was _always_ on his mind, whether he knew it or not.

 

But he knew that Elliot and Lydia’s relationship was totally safe and completely secure.

 

He knew that because he could never admit how he felt about her. He could never admit the way that his heart pounded whenever she was near him. Or that he’d pushed her away so forcefully when she’d become engaged to Elliot because he couldn’t stand the thought of her being in love with someone else.

 

He could never admit those things because of what Lydia meant to him. In short: everything. She was his best friend, but most importantly, he was her best friend. And she’d already lost her first best friend, how he could he possibly tell her everything and risk ruining their friendship?

 

He couldn’t — _wouldn’t_ — lose Lydia.

 

So, Stiles decided something. He stood on the sidelines and watched as she danced with Elliot. And he watched as his date, Laura, made her way over to him with some drinks in her hands.

 

He would never tell Lydia.

 

He would never tell anyone.


	10. 2 hours after

“I’m really glad I finally got to meet your friends,” Elliot said, grabbing onto Lydia’s hand and pulling her gently over to an empty table.

 

They sat down beside each other. Elliot rested his hand on Lydia’s knee, his body positioned towards her. She straightened up, wondering if he would be offended if she edged away from him just slightly. Elliot was never usually this … _touchy_ at home.

 

“They’re pretty great,” she said, redirecting her attention from Elliot to her friends, who were all on the dance floor.

 

She could see Noah and Melissa dancing with a few of the nurses from the hospital. Scott and Malia were dancing beside each other, mimicking each other’s goofy dance moves, while Kira jumped into the air rhythmically with Zack, Malia’s boyfriend.

 

Finally, she found Stiles.

 

And she noticed she felt a little uncomfortable as she saw his date dancing beside him. They were dancing close together, and Stiles reached for her hand. She laughed at something he said, and he leaned closer to say something else to her.

 

Lydia looked away, not wanting to look. For some reason, it was weird to see Stiles _with_ someone. She hadn’t seen him with someone since Malia, though she supposed he _had_ dated girls since then.

 

“I think they’re great,” Elliot continued. Lydia wondered why Elliot was still talking about her friends. “I really like Scott and Stiles. Seems like the three of you have been through so much together.”

 

She looked at her fiancé, trying to figure him out. In New York, she understood Elliot without a doubt. She always knew what he was thinking.

 

In Beacon Hills, she had no idea.

 

“Well,” she said, nodding slowly. “Yeah.”

 

“Did you and Stiles ever …?”

 

“Oh God,” Lydia wrinkled her nose, shaking her head. “God, no! No.”

 

Relief flooded Elliot’s face. “Oh, right.”

 

“God, no,” she continued confidently. “We’re just friends. We’ve never —”

 

“Kissed,” Elliot finished.

 

“Dated,” she concluded, then looked at him. “What?”

 

Elliot frowned at her. “Dated? No, I meant … kissed, or anything like that.”

 

“Well …”

 

She pursed her lips, deep in thought. Her mind flashed back to that moment in the boys’ locker room. She thought of Stiles’s face the moment after she’d kissed him. She thought of her lips on his, of how he’d kissed her back — even through the shock — eventually. She thought of those words he’d uttered: _That was really smart._

 

“Lydia?” Elliot prompted.

 

“Um,” she answered, looking back at Elliot. She shook her head. “No. Never. He’s always been just my friend.”

 

As she said it, she felt a lurch within her. She knew she wasn’t telling the truth.

 

She knew that Stiles had _never_ been _just_ her friend.

 

“I just …” Elliot continued, wrinkling his nose. “I can’t help but think …”

 

“Think what, Elliot?” she asked sharply, looking at him. If he was going to make some kind of comment, she’d prefer he actually just _said_ it, rather than dancing around it.

 

“That you and Stiles might be …” He shook his head. “That speech, Lydia. It was great, it was a great speech, but I sort of got the impression that it wasn’t about Noah and Melissa.”

 

Lydia rolled her eyes. She hadn’t _meant_ to, it just kind of happened. “That’s ridiculous! If it wasn’t about Noah and Melissa, who could it have been about?”

 

Elliot looked at her, waiting silently for the ball to drop. For a genius, Lydia could catch on kind of slow sometimes.

 

Finally, Lydia figured out what Elliot was implying. “ _Me_?” She shook her head. “No. No!”

 

“Is it possible that Stiles doesn’t think of you as _just_ his friend?”

 

Lydia started frantically shaking her head. She felt like she denied this frequently. None of her friends from home ever dropped it into the conversation, but her friends at college had often commented on it. When Stiles had first visited Lydia in college and stayed over the weekend, her friends had asked if he was her boyfriend.

 

She remembered frowning at them, glancing at Stiles, who’d been sitting in her dorm room at her laptop. He was probably in the middle of frantically writing a paper last-minute. Stiles had always been so unnaturally chilled about assignments, while Lydia was a do-it-the-weekend-it-was-set kind of girl.

 

“ _Stiles_?” she had repeated, almost laughing aloud. “My boyfriend? No, God no. We’re just friends. Good friends.”

 

Her friends had nodded, exchanging looks. One of them — now, she couldn’t even remember their names — had peered behind her at Stiles, then smiled.

 

“He’s cute.”

 

“Stiles?” Lydia said again.

 

She glanced back at him, just as his head dropped onto the laptop keyboard and he woke himself up. Of _course._ He’d been asleep the entire time and she’d thought he’d been working hard.

 

“Yeah,” one of the girls said. “I like his plaid shirt.”

 

Lydia had looked at her friends and felt a flash of something through her. “He’s got a girlfriend back home,” she said quickly, quietly. “Sorry, girls.”

 

Then, she’d retreated back into her room and shut the door behind her. For some reason, she hadn’t wanted to share him. He was there to see _her_ , not be flirted with by the girls in her dorm block.

 

A few weeks later, they’d asked about Stiles’s “girlfriend” again. She’d said that they were _really_ serious and he was totally, completely unavailable, and kept that up until they eventually stopped asking.

 

But other people picked up on it too. At least ten people had asked her if Stiles was her boyfriend.

 

She’d never told anyone that.

 

Now, she looked back at her fiancé, who was waiting for her reply.

 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she said finally, shrugging. She reached for his hand. “Stiles and I are just friends.”

 

Elliot said, “Are you sure?”

 

“Yes,” she replied, her heart thudding with every word. Not for the first time, she was _infinitely_ glad Elliot was just a regular guy of the human species. Not supernatural in any way.

 

“Okay,” he said finally, sitting back. “Okay. Should I get us some drinks?”

 

“That sounds great,” she agreed.

 

She smiled at him as he leaned towards her, kissing her cheek, then continued smiling as he stood up and walked over to the bar. Only when he’d completely disappeared from sight did she let her smile drop, glancing out at the dance floor to find Stiles.

 

There he was.

 

Looking right at her.

 

She lifted her hand to wave at him, but he seemed frozen. He just stared at her.

 

Before she could get up and ask if he was okay, somebody dropped down in the seat Elliot had just vacated. She turned to look at Malia, her thoughts about Stiles dissipating.

 

“Hey,” she said.

 

“Hey,” Malia answered. “Are you having fun?”

 

Lydia nodded, attempting to fix a smile on her face. She wasn’t _not_ having fun — but she just felt weird. She was having a weird time.

 

“Yeah,” she answered. “Are you?”

 

Malia nodded. “I need a drink after all that dancing. Is this water?” She picked up a glass from the table and Lydia nodded as Malia tipped it down her throat, swallowing in one giant mouthful.

 

“Man,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I needed that.”

 

Lydia stayed quiet for a few seconds. Then she said, “Malia. Can I ask you something?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“I’ve been thinking about Stiles’s speech —”

 

Malia nodded. “The one about you?”

 

“ _No_ ,” Lydia said flatly, forcefully. “The one about Noah and Melissa.”

 

Malia wrinkled her nose, then shook her head. “Yeah … No, that was about you. It wasn’t even subtle.”

 

“What?” Lydia said again. “It contained references to the hospital.”

 

“Okay, but swap those out for patrols,” Malia said, shrugging, “and he was basically describing your entire relationship. Look, it probably doesn’t mean anything. It was just _Stiles._ Rambling.”

 

Lydia nodded distantly, glancing back out onto the dance floor to seek out her best friend. She wanted to see him, to see him with someone else, to know that it couldn’t _possibly_ be true. Stiles’s speech couldn’t have been about her — why _would_ it have been?

 

She couldn’t see Stiles anywhere.

 

She could see Laura, dancing away with one of the cops from the Sheriff’s station, but she couldn’t see Stiles anymore.

 

“It was not,” she said, as firmly as possible, “about me.”

 

Malia shrugged. “Whatever. You know him better than I do.”

 

“Wait,” Lydia said quickly, narrowing her eyes at Malia. She wasn’t quite ready to let this go. “Tell me the truth, Malia. Do you _really_ think that?”

 

Malia said, “It just sounded kind of familiar.”

 

Lydia glanced across the wedding venue, and finally located Stiles over by the bar. He had two drinks in his hand and tried — unsuccessfully — to sip smoothly from one while keeping the other steady in his hands.

 

Lydia got to her feet and marched over to him, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him over to a more secluded area of the venue.

 

“Whoa — Lydia!” Stiles cried out, the contents of his drinks spilling over his sleeves. “You made me spill my drinks!”

 

“Forget about your drinks,” Lydia said, with pursed lips. “Stiles — the speech. I _have_ to know. Everyone’s saying that it’s —”

 

Stiles’s face dropped. She watched as he looked completely terrified. “Have you spoken to Scott?”

 

“Scott?” Lydia shook her head. “No. I spoke to _Malia_.”

 

“Malia?” Stiles frowned. He seemed confused now, more than anything. “What does Malia have to do with anything?”

 

“She told me that it’s _possible_ the speech was …” Lydia shook her head, stepping closer to him. “Don’t make me say it, Stiles. For God’s sake.”

 

Stiles’s face hardened and he looked at her. “Whatever Malia is saying to you, just ignore it. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

 

“She doesn’t?”

 

He shook his head. Now, he seemed more certain. “She doesn’t.”

 

Lydia looked at Stiles — her best friend of twelve years — and she relaxed a little. “You know,” she said, “Elliot just asked me about us. About the speech.”

 

“Us?” Stiles asked.

 

“You and I,” she told him, her cheeks flushing a little bit as she realised the implications of that one word: _us._ “Our friendship. He asked if anything had ever happened between us.”

 

If Lydia’s cheeks blushed a little, Stiles’s face transformed into a deep red. “Oh.”

 

“I said no,” she told him quickly. “I mean, it isn’t … like anything ever _has_.”

 

Then, a funny expression crossed Stiles’s face. Lydia didn’t know what it meant. She didn’t understand why he looked so confused, so _hurt_ , as he blinked back at her.

 

“Seriously?” he asked. His voice was soft, which somehow made it all worse. “You seriously believe that? Come on, Lydia. You can’t believe that.”

 

Lydia felt like Stiles had ripped the floor from beneath her and, for the first time in her life, she found herself speechless. She stared back at him, eyes narrowed, her mouth dropping open a little bit.

 

He just looked back at her like all of the fight had drained from him.

 

Stiles continued, “You know that’s not true.”

 

She softened. “Stiles,” she said, smiling softly at him. “Of course I —”

 

“Lydia?”

 

It was Elliot; she would recognise his voice anywhere.

 

She glanced to her right, almost afraid to look up, where she could see Elliot standing, watching them. She had no idea how much she’d heard, but she found herself stepping away from Stiles like she’d done something wrong.

 

“Lydia. What’s going on?” Elliot asked.

 

She noticed that he looked mad. He seemed frozen in place, watching them with a glass of wine in his hand. The glass of wine he’d been getting her, while she’d been talking to Stiles in the corner.

 

She knew how it looked. She didn’t know how much he’d heard. She hadn’t seen him approach them — had Stiles? Surely not.

 

“Elliot,” she said carefully. “We were just talking —”

 

“Seriously?” he interrupted her, shaking his head. “You _always_ seem to be ‘just talking’. Is it something that you can let me in on?”

 

Lydia didn’t know how to answer. She swallowed, not daring to look at Stiles, who sighed — loudly — and stepped forward.

 

“Look, Elliot,” he began, seeming unruffled, “we were just talking about —”

 

“Stiles — I didn’t ask you,” Elliot snapped. His gaze flickered to the man standing beside Lydia for a second — long enough to dismiss him — before he looked back at her. “Is there something going on between you two?”

 

“What? Elliot!” Lydia felt mortified. How could Elliot practically accuse her of having an _affair_ with Stiles right there? “I should _not_ have to answer that.”

 

“No,” Elliot agreed, “but I would like you to. Is there something going on here that I need to know about?”

 

This time, Stiles answered faster. When he spoke, it was calm and casual. Cool, like this conversation wasn’t affecting him in the _slightest_. Lydia wished she could be as calm as him — her heartbeat was thudding inside her, and, oddly, she couldn’t quite work out if it was the conversation with Stiles before Elliot’s interrupted which had sent her heartbeat skyrocketing, or whether it was Elliot’s interjection.

 

“No,” he said smoothly, easily. “There’s nothing going on here. Nothing at all.”

 

Elliot looked at Stiles, narrowing his eyes. Then, he looked at Lydia. He seemed to want confirmation, so she nodded — even though she wasn’t quite sure herself.

 

Something _had_ been going on just before Elliot had appeared. The look on Stiles’s face … it hadn’t just been _nothing._

 

 _You know that’s not true_ , he’d said to her. Had he … had he felt everything she’d felt over the years?

 

All this time she’d thought she’d imagined it — the night she’d cried in his bedroom over Jackson; the night they’d spent in his room, trying to piece together the Barrow mystery; the time he’d saved her from Eichen; the moments spent in the animal clinic, worrying that he wouldn’t emerge from the ice bath alive; the minutes of semi-consciousness, with him pleading with her to open her eyes — could it be that she _hadn’t_?

 

“Lydia?” Elliot prompted.

 

“No,” she said finally, straightening up. If Stiles was going to deny it, _she_ certainly wasn’t going to admit anything. Especially not now, when it clearly didn’t matter anymore.

 

Even if something had been going on between them, it was so long ago now. All the way back in high school when things had been so different. Back then, she’d needed someone and Stiles had been there for her.

 

Now, she had Elliot.

 

And that was enough. Wasn’t it?

 

She couldn’t even look at Stiles. She couldn’t face him.

 

“Well,” Elliot said finally, “good. Because … I have an idea.”

 

“An idea?” she repeated. She looked at him and realised he was smiling. His face seemed warmer.

 

“Well,” Elliot began, “I know that you said you’d start planning our wedding when we get back to New York, but I thought … all of your friends and family are here, right now. Why don’t we just do it, Lydia?”

 

She hadn’t quite figured out what he was talking about. Or, rather, she didn’t think she could _possibly_ have got it right.

 

“Do what, Elliot?”

 

“Get married,” he announced, his eyes bright.

 

“ _What_?” she asked, shaking her head slowly. “None of your family are here, Elliot.”

 

“Well,” he replied, shrugging easily, “I don’t need my family here. You know what they’re like.”

 

It _was_ true that Elliot’s family were notorious for being uninterested in Elliot’s life. His mom had remarried several times and his father had been in and out of his life since he’d been a teenager. It didn’t surprise Lydia that he wouldn’t mind either way if his parents were in attendance for his wedding, but she still couldn’t believe what he was _actually_ suggesting.

 

“Elliot —,” she began.

 

“Come on,” Elliot said. “Just … marry me, Lydia. Tonight.”

 

Lydia stared back at him, before it crossed her mind who was standing right beside her. She had totally forgotten about Stiles — but when she looked over to her left, Stiles was gone.

 

She glanced around, searching for him, and found him making his way through the crowd with his head down. She watched as he opened one of the doors out of the venue and disappeared.

 

She felt a lurch in her stomach, knowing she would have to give Elliot an answer to his _ridiculous_ question, but also knowing that Stiles had disappeared without hearing what she had to say.

 

Above all, she felt sick thinking that she knew without a doubt the reason behind Elliot’s spontaneous suggestion.

 

“What do you say?” he asked, prompting her.

 

She shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

 

His face fell and she did feel bad, but she stood her ground. “I can’t believe you.”

 

“You can’t believe _me_?”

 

“You’ve just —” She stopped herself from raising her voice, crossing her arms across her body instead. She lowered her voice. “Please don’t tell me that you’ve done that — asked me this — just to try and prove something.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Elliot,” she answered, her eyes flashing, “do _not_ tell me you’ve done this because you’re jealous.”

 

“I want to be married to you,” Elliot told her. “That’s all.”

 

“Like this?” she asked, incredulous. “In the middle of a disagreement? In the middle of Melissa and Noah’s wedding?”

 

“After,” he said certainly, “or tomorrow, if you’d prefer.”

 

“No,” she answered.

 

“I love you,” he continued. “I just want you to be my wife.”

 

“Not like this,” she told him, before she brushed past him and walked away.

 

She managed to find Scott on the dance floor, where he was sweaty and breathless from dancing so much.

 

“Hey,” she said, “has Stiles been this way?”

 

He shook his head. “Haven’t seen him.”

 

She checked outside, scoping the area for signs of Stiles. She couldn’t see him anywhere. Back inside the venue, she checked around all the tables, the bar, the dance floor, the bathrooms — everywhere.

 

She looked everywhere.

 

She started to become panicked after ten minutes of searching with no luck. It was like he had just vanished. She checked outside again, wondering if he’d headed further away and then started to wander back to the wedding. She hated that the last thing he had heard of the wedding was Elliot freaking suggesting they get _married_ later that night.

 

With every minute, her worry and panic increased.

 

The crowd was too loud, the venue too hot. She couldn’t concentrate. She couldn’t figure out where he would be.

 

“Lydia?” Scott appeared beside her. “Everything okay?”

 

“I can’t find Stiles,” she told him. “Have you seen him recently? He walked through here about fifteen minutes earlier. Something happened and … I’m worried about him.”

 

“He’ll be fine,” Scott said surely, but she could tell that he’d slipped into Protective Alpha Mode. He was just trying to remain calm. “What happened with you two?”

 

Lydia glanced over at Elliot, who was sinking beers over by the bar. “We were in the middle of something and … Elliot came over. He said some stuff.”

 

“What stuff?”

 

“Not … good stuff,” she said, not wanting to get more specific. She sighed. “Elliot suggested we get married this weekend.”

 

“And Stiles was … there?” Scott repeated. Now, he seemed really worried.

 

Lydia nodded, biting her lip. Somehow, she just knew that this was bad. Up until fifteen minutes ago, she wouldn’t have realised _how_ bad. Before the whole speech thing had happened, and the way Stiles had looked at her when he’d said, so calmly, _You know that’s not true._

 

Something had _happened_ between them — something had been happening — and she didn’t know what this quite meant for them. For anything.

 

“We need to find him,” Scott said. He noticed the worried look on Lydia’s face. “Lydia, don’t worry. He’ll be here. He’s probably just …”

 

He trailed off because Lydia had that faraway look in her eyes, the one she always got whenever her banshee abilities kicked in. She felt like she’d been punched in the chest — a familiar aching that made her want to curl up on the floor.

 

“Lydia?” Scott asked.

 

“You don’t understand,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can feel it.”

 

“Feel what?” Scott said, his voice low.

 

“I can feel it,” she repeated, looking up at him and meeting his eyes. All she could feel was darkness. “He’s gone. They’ve taken him.”


	11. 2 hours and 45 minutes after

All he could see was darkness.

 

___________________________________

 

 

“Who was the last person to see him?” Malia asked as the group huddled outside the wedding venue, trying not to let Noah or Melissa see that they were panicking _or_ that Stiles was missing.

 

“Me,” Lydia answered.

 

“What happened?” Malia asked.

 

“We …” Lydia shook her head, not wanting to tell the others all that had happened. Besides, it all felt like a distant dream. Had Elliot really suggested they get married? In front of Stiles?

 

“Lydia,” Scott said, his voice low. “Any information you give can help us find him.”

 

She did _not_ want to be responsible for losing Stiles — especially because she was, like, 90% sure she was responsible for him leaving in the first place. And if he hadn’t left the reception, he wouldn’t be gone.

 

“Elliot asked me if I’d marry him tonight and Stiles was there,” Lydia explained briefly. It was all the information she was willing to give; the conversation they’d had _before_ Elliot’s interruption was for only Lydia to know.

 

She wanted to keep that between them. It felt private.

 

“Holy shit,” Malia breathed, her eyes wide. “What did you say?”

 

“No,” Lydia replied, then added, “obviously.”

 

“What did Stiles do?” Kira asked.

 

“He walked away before I could give Elliot my answer,” she replied.

 

“No kidding,” Malia answered, shooting Kira a look that Lydia didn’t understand and didn’t have time to _try_  to understand.

 

“Scott,” Lydia said, “what’s the plan?”

 

“I haven’t come up with one yet.”

 

“No plan?” Lydia asked, sighing. “This is bad. This is really bad — I can’t describe what I can feel, but it’s … it’s not good.”

 

“How come you can feel Stiles?” Malia asked. “If I disappeared, would you be able to feel me too?”

 

“It’s the emotional tether,” Scott explained, looking at Lydia for confirmation. She nodded. “It means that they have a strong, almost unbreakable connection. It’s the same thing that’s saved Stiles’s life over and over, and it’s going to help tonight.”

 

He seemed so sure that Lydia found herself relaxing a little. She just wished that Stiles was there: cracking jokes and making inappropriately-timed, sarcastic comments. She wished that she could use her abilities — or even just the tether — to tune in with him like he was a radio.

 

“Well,” Scott said, “we can’t worry my mom or Noah. That’s important.”

 

“Agreed,” Kira weighed in.

 

“Where would the pack take him?” Scott said.

 

“The field,” Lydia replied easily. When the others looked at her, she added, “It’s their home. Why _wouldn’t_ they go back there?”

 

“It’s kind of obvious, isn’t it?” Malia asked. “Why would they go back to their home?”

 

“Because they want us to find them,” Scott finished for Lydia, looking at her. Lydia nodded back at him; they understood each other in a way that the other two just didn’t.

 

They would both do absolutely anything to protect and save Stiles.

 

“What do we do?” Kira said. “We could be walking right into a trap.”

 

“Right,” Lydia said, “but it’s _Stiles_.”

 

Kira and Malia looked at Lydia, who just shrugged in response. There was really nothing else to add. As far as Lydia was concerned, that was the only reason they needed to rush into this. She didn’t even care if she ended up getting hurt in the process.

 

She just needed to know that he was okay and not … _not_ okay because of her.

 

“Okay,” Kira said finally, nodding. “We need to get the others. I’ll let Liam and Mason know what’s going on, Malia, you find Hayden and tell her. They can hold the fort here until we get back, make sure that Melissa and Noah have no idea that we’ve gone.”

 

“We’ll reconvene in ten,” Scott said. “I’ll walk the perimeter. Lydia, you —”

 

“I need to talk to Elliot,” she interrupted him, and Scott nodded.

 

“Be back out here in ten minutes, okay?” Scott said. “I’ll think of something while I’m checking.”

 

She nodded and the pack broke away from each other, with the three women all heading inside but in totally different directions.

 

Luckily, Lydia didn’t need to walk far to find Elliot. He was sitting at one of the empty tables with a beer beside him. He saw her approaching and shook his head immediately. Lydia knew instantly that he regretted what he’d said, which made things significantly easier for her.

 

“Lydia,” he said as she sat down beside him, “before you say anything, I’m sorry.”

 

She nodded. “Elliot, it’s —”

 

“No, let me explain,” Elliot said. She glanced over by the doors to outside. She couldn’t see anything, but just because nothing was visibly happening, that didn’t mean something wasn’t happening at all. She needed to make this as quick as possible for the sake of Stiles.

 

“Elliot, let’s just forget about it, okay? It was a stupid suggestion and you know that I’m not taking it seriously. Any of it. So, don’t feel like you need to apologise for suggesting it.”

 

“Actually, I need to apologise about something else,” he said. “For … the jealousy. I’ll admit, I was pissed that you had something private going on with Stiles. I was pissed that you seem to want to spend all your time with him rather than me, and I was pissed that you seem … I don’t know — distant somehow?”

 

As smoothly as possible, she looked back at him and nodded like she was totally focused and not distant at all.

 

“Okay,” she said slowly, wondering if she was supposed to chip in here — agree? Disagree? It didn’t seem like the appropriate time to do or say _anything._

 

“The truth is that I’ve been jealous over your friendship with Stiles for as long as I’ve known you. For as long as we’ve been together, Stiles has been, like, this … I don’t know … like your _person._ The person you trust more than anything and anyone. The person whose opinion you value more than anyone else’s. And you’ve always gone to _him_ if you’ve had something going on. I’ve never been your first port of call — until he stopped returning your messages and calls. Then, it really became obvious to me that I was like his replacement.

 

And I know that you guys are just friends; you’ve told me that and I trust you when you say that, but I can’t help but feeling like — and now I think it even more since I’ve met him — he’s in love with you.”

 

He stopped and looked at her. His cheeks were pink. He was embarrassed because he was pouring his heart out to her and all she could think about was … Stiles.

 

And she’d never realised the issue in that until now.

 

“Lydia,” Elliot continued, his voice gentle now. “Now that I’ve met Stiles and I’ve seen the two of you together, I get it.”

 

She finally found her voice. “You get what?”

 

“The connection,” he explained, frowning. It was his deep-in-thought look. “Between the two of you. It’s like nothing I’ve seen before — it’s like you’re physically linked. That’s why him not talking to you made you so angry, right? The connection that you two have seems to go beyond anything I’ve seen.

 

Trust me, Lydia, I’ve tried to be pissed about the time you’ve wanted to spend with him over the past few days and I’ve tried to be angry, but I just get it. He’s in love with you, right?”

 

This, she couldn’t give him the answer to. In fact, she couldn’t give him an answer to _anything._ Because her friendship with Stiles had never been laid out on the line like that. It had never been so blindingly obvious to her before.

 

The trouble was that all her friends — the pack, her mom, Noah, Melissa, basically everyone she knew — had never picked up on her connection with Stiles before because they were used to it. She just knew it was there.

 

It was … unspoken.

 

To have it all laid out in front of her was _weird._ Soul-baring. 

 

“I … don’t know, Elliot,” she answered truthfully.

 

“What about you?” he asked her, breaking eye contact with her. He fiddled with some of the confetti on the tables, his expression and actions awkward.

 

“What _about_ me?”

 

He looked pained, like he truly did not want to ask her the next question out of his mouth. “Lydia …” he said, shaking his head. “Are you in love with him?”

 

Lydia felt like time had stopped and all she could see was Elliot sitting across from her, avoiding eye contact and waiting for her response. She knew that she was on a sensitive time scale and she really just needed to make her escape. She needed to go.

 

Stiles’s life _literally_ depended on it.

 

Elliot was her fiancé. He didn’t deserve for there to be a question mark next to her feelings for him.

 

She ignored how her heartbeat sped up. She ignored what she felt. She ignored every instinct screaming at her.

 

“No,” she said, pursing her lips at him.

 

“Really?”

 

She couldn’t bring herself to say it for a second time, so she just reached for his hand and squeezed as tightly and quickly as she could.

 

Besides, what did it even matter? She’d built this entire life with Elliot. Could she throw all of that away because she was feeling apprehensive over everything else that was going on? She told herself that the thumps of her heart, the way her hands were warm and clammy, it was all just because she was worried for Stiles.

 

It had nothing to do with what she was saying to Elliot.

 

“I have to go,” she said to him.

 

“What?”

 

“Just to run an errand,” she explained hastily. “I won’t be long — I hope. But you should stay here and have fun.”

 

“Seriously?” Elliot raised an eyebrow. “You’re leaving?”

 

“I know — but I wouldn’t be if it wasn’t _really_ important.” She glanced around, her eyes finding Noah and Melissa. “If Noah and Melissa ask where we are, could you just … tell them that we had to run out and do something?”

 

“We?” Elliot asked. “Who is _we_?”

 

“Everyone,” she said quickly, getting to her feet. “Um, also, maybe you could keep Stiles’s date company. I think she’s over at the bar — she seems nice.”

 

“Lydia?” Elliot said, but Lydia was already on her way.

 

She didn’t have time to stop and worry about Elliot, or even give a second thought to their entire conversation. She _couldn’t_ let herself wonder about Elliot’s question, or why it had felt so strange answering the way she had.

 

She just had to find her best friend.

 

___________________________________

 

His head hurt.

 

His throat was dry.

 

When he moved, he realised that he’d tied down to something.

 

Something he couldn’t see due to the darkness.

 

Something trickled down the side of his head. It was warm and felt thick against his temple.

 

Without feeling it, he knew it was blood.

 

___________________________________

 

 

Lydia’s head pounded as Scott drove over the speed limit to the field that had been hers and Stiles’s for years.

 

Any other time, she’d feel pissed that she was being forced to share it with everyone else, but she was too concerned about the pain in her head and the feeling of impending doom drawing in on her.

 

It literally felt like the sides of the cars were closing in, suffocating her. She felt like she was trapped in a space, but she couldn’t figure out where.

 

“What can you feel, Lydia?” Scott asked from beside her.

 

She breathed raggedly through the closing in walls. Through the pain and the death surrounding her, she gasped, “Darkness.”

 

“Just … darkness?” Malia asked from the backseat, peering her head through the gap of the front seats. “That’s it?”

 

Lydia closed her eyes and massaged her temples, trying to concentrate on what was important.

 

“He’s in the field,” she announced. Her voice sounded distant.

 

“Remind me again how you know exactly where to find the field?” Kira asked. She sounded suspicious.

 

Lydia considered lying and blaming the connection — the tether — between her and Stiles, but she wasn’t a freaking GPS. Even if she had a feeling that Stiles was in the field the pack lived in, she wouldn’t be able to know specifically _where_ that was.

 

“We used to go there all the time,” Lydia explained. Scott wordlessly handled her a bottle of water he’d swiped from the reception and she uncapped it, taking a long sip. “Stiles and me. In high school, we’d go to the field and talk, look up at the stars. I don’t know — just kill time at night.”

 

The others were quiet, waiting for her to continue, and she knew she had to. Scott and Malia would be able to tell by her heartbeat if she left out any details, and she was pretty sure that Scott had pieced together exactly what had happened the second Stiles and Lydia had entered his kitchen after they’d found out.

 

“We went last night,” she explained, taking another sip of water to buy herself some time. “It’s our spot. It _was_ our spot. We didn’t know.”

 

“This is _your_ fault?” Malia asked.

 

“Malia,” Scott warned.

 

“But it is,” Malia continued indignantly. “It is! This whole thing is because of you two?”

 

“Not necessarily,” Scott remained calm in the driver’s seat. “We don’t know the full story. And we’re not jumping to conclusions.”

 

“Basically, yes,” Lydia answered flatly, staring straight ahead. “I’m not trying to deny that — but you can be mad at me later. The priority is finding Stiles and we’re not going to achieve that by arguing.”

 

The others were silent.

 

After a while, Kira said, “So, you and Stiles sneak away to your own private field. Sounds romantic.”

 

“It was a cold, dark field,” Lydia replied tightly. “ _Real_ romantic.”

 

“With _stars_ ,” Kira pointed out.

 

Lydia nodded, opening her mouth to say something, but she was hit with another wave of pain. Right to her head. She felt the distinct sensation of something trickling down the side of her head, but when she touched her temple with her finger, it came away dry.

 

“He’s bleeding,” she told the others, but she felt relieved. The pain had eased. The darkness had cleared just a little.

 

“Why do you sound pleased about that?”

 

“I can _feel_ him bleeding,” Lydia explained, “that means he’s alive, right? Otherwise I’d just feel nothing.”

 

Scott threw her an unsure look. “You’re kind of the expert on banshees, Lydia. Well, you and Stiles. I don’t know what that means.”

 

“If he was dead,” she repeated, her voice a little shrill, “I’d feel nothing. There wouldn’t be anything.”

 

“Do you know where he is?” Scott asked. “Specifically, I mean.”

 

She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate, but she drew a blank. She opened her eyes and shook her head.

 

“I don’t know,” she said. “The field is too vast. There’s too much ground.”

 

“It’s okay,” Scott said reassuringly. “We’ll find him.”

 

Lydia nodded and closed her eyes again.

 

 _Come on, Stiles,_ she thought. _Give me something. Anything._

 

But she felt nothing.

 

___________________________________

 

 

He woke with a start as a glaringly bright light shone directly into his eyes.

 

When he lifted his hand to shield his eyes, he could just about detect a silhouette behind the light. He tried to lift his other hand to reach out for them — was it Scott? Lydia? Coming to find him? — but he found that he physically couldn’t.

 

When he tried, pain shot through his arm.

 

“My arm,” he said, surprised that he could still speak. He supposed it had probably only been a few hours, at least he thought so, so perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised that he didn’t croak.

 

The person behind the torch shining right at him said nothing.

 

“I think it’s broken,” he said, trying again. “Could you help?”

 

The torch light switched off without warning and he heard footsteps as whoever it had been walked quickly away.

 

Stiles leaned his head back against the wall, his eyes fluttering shut, and the last image that crossed his mind — his last wish, the last thought on his mind — was Lydia.

 

Her name on his lips, whispering into the darkness, as he closed his eyes.

 

___________________________________

 

 

Lydia opened the car door and ran towards the gate. She sized it up as Malia, approaching beside her, practically just launched herself over to the other side and landed perfectly. She bared her teeth, growled, before she straightened up and turned around to look at Lydia.

 

“What are you waiting for?” she asked.

 

“Well, I can’t do _that_ ,” Lydia reminded her, scowling.

 

“I’ll help you,” Malia offered. “Put one leg over.”

 

“Or,” Lydia suggested, “lift the latch and open the gate.”

 

Malia said, “The other way would have been way more fun.”

 

“This isn’t supposed to be fun,” Scott reminded Malia as she opened the gate from the other side. “This is a rescue mission.”

 

“Right,” Malia answered. The three of them joined Malia on the other side. “But, you know, he’ll be okay. He’s only been gone for a few hours.”

 

The others were quiet. They didn’t know.

 

Scott looked at Lydia, but Lydia didn’t know anything either. She hadn’t felt anything in a while and she didn’t quite know how they’d locate Stiles at this point.

 

“Right?” Malia asked, desperate for reassurance.

 

“We’ll try our best,” Scott said finally. He sounded resigned.

 

Lydia wondered how he was coping. Whenever Stiles wasn’t with her, he was with Scott. He was probably struggling with his disappearance just as much as she was, but she was also selfishly thinking of how much _she_ missed him and she didn’t have time to worry about Scott, too.

 

God. She just wanted to find him. She just wanted to _find_ him.

 

“We’re never going to find him,” she cried. “I can’t _feel_ anything. I can’t think of anything. I just can’t —”

 

And then, just then, she heard something.

 

_Lydia._

 

It was only faint, but it was there.

 

Her name. Whispered across the field.

 

“Stop,” she said to her friends, freezing mid-stride like any movement might cause the sound to disappear.

 

“What?” Kira asked quickly, turning to look on her. She reached for her belt. “What can you hear?”

 

Lydia looked up, her eyes scanning the empty field. “My name.”

 

“Stiles?” Scott asked.

 

She nodded. It had only been quiet. It had only been a soft whisper, so quiet she had barely heard it, but it was there all the same.

 

“Well, where is he?” Malia asked impatiently. “We need to find him.”

 

Lydia closed her eyes and turned her head, trying to catch where the whisper had come from.

 

She heard it again.

 

_Lydia._

 

She started walking in the direction she could hear it from. The others followed her, quiet, just letting her get on with it. After all, she was the only one with the ability to follow the sounds in her head.

 

But then Malia stopped. “I can smell him.”

 

“You can?” Kira asked.

 

“Yeah,” Malia paused. “And blood. I can smell blood too.”

 

“So can I,” Scott agreed.

 

Lydia kept walking, letting her abilities and feelings guide her. All she could think about was reaching him, saving him, making him promise to never leave her again.

 

And then she stopped.

 

So did Malia and Scott.

 

“Werewolves,” Malia whispered, smelling. She was on high alert.

 

“Where?” Kira asked, brandishing her belt.

 

But nobody needed to answer Kira’s question. A few yards away, Lydia watched as three werewolves stepped out from behind a large oak tree. Their eyes glowed red.

 

“Alphas,” Kira whispered.

 

Scott took the lead. “We’re here for our friend.”

 

The werewolf in front — a woman, dressed in a black leather jacket, thigh-high boots, black jeans and a black shirt — smiled and stepped closer to them. Lydia raised her hands, readying herself.

 

“Scott McCall,” she said, her voice low and gravelly. “Here to save the day.”

 

“You know who I am,” Scott said flatly. It wasn’t a question.

 

The woman nodded. “Of course. You’re not just an alpha. You’re _the_ alpha. You even had Peter Hale scared at times. You’re infamous.”

 

“Then you know what my pack is capable of,” Scott said.

 

The woman glanced at the others. “Of course,” she answered. “The most … unusual pack. A were-coyote, kitsune and …” She looked disdainfully at Lydia. “The banshee.”

 

“Look,” Scott said, “we just want our friend back. He’s human.”

 

“We know,” the woman said, “but he passed on our turf. We couldn’t let him get away with that for free — besides, we knew that taking him would lure you.”

 

Scott sighed. “What do you want?”

 

“Our land,” one of the other werewolves piped up. “Not _theirs_.”

 

“My friends didn’t know,” Scott explained. “They used to come here years ago. They didn’t think anyone lived here.”

 

“We won’t come again,” Lydia said, lifting her chin. “We just want Stiles back.”

 

“Give him back and nobody gets hurt,” Malia added, narrowing her glowing blue eyes.

 

“Nobody?” The female alpha jeered, curling her lip. “He’s already hurt.”

 

“You son of a —” Lydia started, but Scott put out an arm, keeping her back. “Scott. They’ve _hurt_ him.”

 

“And nothing you do will help that,” Scott said to her, keeping his voice low. “The most important thing is negotiating.”

 

“I have an idea,” the alpha said, crossing her arms across her body. “Why don’t you _beg_ us for him back? We quite like him. Maybe we want to keep him. Tell us exactly why we shouldn’t.”

 

“He’s a human,” Scott repeated, “and we don’t harm humans. He also happens to my best friend.”

 

“And mine,” Malia added. “He’s funny, too.”

 

“And he’s intelligent,” Kira said quickly. “He’s practically a genius.”

 

The alpha smiled, then looked at Lydia. “What about you, banshee? Why shouldn’t we keep him?”

 

“Because …” Lydia shook her head.

 

B _ecause he’s my best friend._

 

_Because he’s everything to me._

 

_Because I couldn’t live without him._

 

_Because I might love him._

 

“Because I can’t lose him,” she said finally. “Not again.”

 

The alpha looked at her, narrowing her eyes. Something seemed to shift within her. “Love,” she spat, looking disgusted. “I hate the word.”

 

“Look,” Scott tried again. “We’ll stay away from your land, okay? We’ll never come back and we’ll tell everyone not to as well. We’ll leave you alone — just give him back to us.”

 

The alpha shrugged. She clearly enjoyed playing games, tormenting them.

 

But Lydia didn’t.

 

She knew that she’d had nightmares about fighting these battles. She knew that, in her dreams, this haunted her. She tossed and turned all night, thinking about the blood shed and the lives lost. The carnage and the trail of death they left behind them.

 

But she also knew that she would die trying to protect Stiles, and she wasn’t going to let these asshole alphas taunt them anymore.

 

She lifted her hands, stepped forwards, and screamed with everything inside her. She pushed the scream through to her hands and guided it towards the alphas. It hit them at full speed — they hadn’t been expecting it — and they flew back into the air.

 

Even though they were quick to recover and scramble to their feet, Scott, Malia and Kira didn’t waste any time either. Before the alphas could regain their balance, the pack had moved and ran towards them, ready for attack.

 

Lydia took the distraction and rushed around to the back of the oak tree. There was nothing there, but when she glanced around frantically, she spotted a tunnel over in the foliage.

 

She headed straight for it, crawling on her hands and knees through the grass and wilderness into a clearing. She pressed the torch button on her phone, lighting up the otherwise pitch-black undergrowth. The werewolves had forged some kind of hidey-hole, and when she shone her light over it, she could see a figure slumped in the corner.

 

He was wearing a tuxedo, dried blood ran down his forehead, and his arm twisted at an odd, painful angle.

 

But it was him.

 

“Stiles?” she whispered, crawling over to him and brushing the dirt away from his face. She held his face in his hands, but his eyes were closed and he didn’t open his eyes.

 

“Stiles?” she said again. “ _Stiles_.”

 

His eyes fluttered open and he immediately winced from whatever pain he felt.

 

“Stiles,” she said urgently, crouching in front of him and cupping his face in her hands, just like she’d done when she’d kissed him in the locker room so many years ago.

 

He lifted his head and his eyes met hers. “Lydia?”

 

“We’re getting you out,” she promised. “I promise.”

 

Suddenly, light streamed in through the overgrowth and she could see a shadow approaching.

 

 _Scott_.

 

“Lydia,” Stiles said from beside her, his voice surprisingly clear, although quiet. He grasped onto her hand and she nodded, watching as Scott made his way over to them.

 

“It’s okay, Stiles. Scott is here now,” she said, the relief evident in her voice. She hadn’t known what her next step in the plan was. She had no idea how she’d have been able to get him out of that little hole in the overgrowth without supernatural strength.

 

“Lydia,” Stiles said again. His eyes fluttered closed. “I … I have to tell you …”

 

“It’s okay, Stiles. Scott is here!”

 

Scott finally reached them. “Stiles? Stiles? Are you okay?”

 

“I have to tell you something …” Stiles continued, his head dropping forwards.

 

“Tell me later,” Lydia said quickly. She turned to Scott. “We need to get him to the hospital — look at his hand. It’s broken.”

 

Scott nodded. “Kira and Malia are still out there, but I managed to get free. Well done for spotting this place — I wouldn’t have been able to find it, had I not heard you talking to Stiles.”

 

Lydia nodded grimly. Stiles’s hand still gripped onto hers and she touched his long, thin fingers.

 

“Stiles,” she said softly. “I was so worried.”

 

He looked up, his eyes meeting hers for a second. She wasn’t even sure if he knew it was her, that she was even there.

 

“I … can’t not tell you,” he said, “I think I’m …”

 

“You’re what, Stiles?” she pressed.

 

He drifted off again, his eyes closing.

 

“Stiles,” she said again. “You’re what? Tell me.”

 

He looked at her. “I’m in …”

 

He reached for her hand and she looked down at his, where she could see the awkward twisted shape.

 

“In pain?” she guessed, nodding. “I can kind of see that, Stiles.”

 

He shook his head, but then appeared to give up, slumping to one side.

 

She ached to know what he wanted to say to her, but she also knew they were losing valuable time. Stiles probably had a concussion. He didn’t even know what he was saying to her. He needed to be taken to the hospital immediately.

 

“Stiles,” Scott said, slinging Stiles’s good arm around his shoulders. “Come on. We have to go.”

 

Scott somehow manoeuvred Stiles through the tunnel and Lydia was left to bring up the rear.

 

She could see the werewolves up ahead, still fighting with Kira and Malia, and she vividly remembered her nightmares again. Maybe they weren’t nightmares, but visions. With a rush of adrenaline, she ran — still wearing her bridesmaid’s dress — up the field and stood in front of the fighting supernaturals.

 

One of the alphas spotted her before she could make any kind of impact and turned her way, snarling.

 

“The banshee’s back,” she said. “I see you’ve rescued your little boyfriend. Let this be a lesson, Banshee. Never come on our land again.”

 

“Oh, yeah? What if I want to come onto your land?” Lydia taunted. “What if we knew the entire time? I’m not afraid of you, sweetheart. I’ve dated boys far worse than you and your little claws.”

 

The alpha snarled again, growing angrier. “Big mistake, Banshee.”

 

Lydia jutted out her chin, steadying herself as the other two alphas noticed what was going on with their pack member. They withdrew from Kira and Malia, instead making their way over to Lydia.

 

But Lydia had known this would happen. She knew that werewolves couldn’t take ego bashing. She’d dated enough supernaturals to know that, more than anything, they hated when somebody wounded their pride.

It was exactly what she’d been counting on.

 

“This,” she said, bracing herself, “is for Stiles.”

 

And then she screamed.


	12. 8 hours after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out! I hope you all enjoy the angst!

Stiles knew that he was in a hospital bed. He knew that his head hurt, and whenever he moved his left arm he felt shooting pains.

 

He knew that nurses kept passing him by and offering him water or coffee (though he wasn’t sure why he would want coffee in the middle of the night — and he was pretty sure that it was the middle of the night because the curtains were all closed).

 

He knew that he was tired and his eyes felt heavy, which was why he hadn’t opened his eyes much in the last few hours and had instead been drifting in and out of a restless sleep.

 

Voices appeared in his semi-consciousness. He recognised his father’s concerned voice, asking the nurse what had happened, and her reply:

 

“ … a slight concussion, a pretty big wound on his forehead and a broken arm. Nothing time and rest won’t help with. He’ll be okay …”

 

On his first full day in hospital, he woke up for thirty minutes or so and talked to Scott for a while. Scott told him that the doctors were keeping him in for another night to observe him. The cut on his forehead was impressive — thanks to the werewolf who had effortlessly and quickly slashed his forehead like she was freaking Wolverine — and the doctors were concerned he would have internal bleeding, but Stiles was doing well. Another few tests the next day and he’d be able to go home and rest there.

 

“How are you feeling?” Scott asked him.

 

He shrugged, leaning back against the pillow on his bed. “Like I’ve had my arm broken in three places by an angry alpha out for revenge.”

 

“Funny,” Scott replied, rolling his eyes. “You should be going home tomorrow.”

 

“And then it’s just six weeks of wearing this cast,” Stiles muttered, lifting his arm and then regretting it immediately, wincing alongside the pain.

 

“It’ll fly by,” Scott said. “You think that your dad believed the story?”

 

“That I tripped, broke my arm, concussed myself and caused _this_?” He pointed to the cut on his forehead, which had also been bandaged. He shook his head. “No, there’s no way he’s convinced. But at this stage in our lives, he’s given up arguing about it.”

 

“It could have been worse,” Scott said to him.

 

Stiles looked at his friend, frowning. “How could this be worse?”

 

“You could be dead, Stiles.”

 

“They weren’t going to kill me,” Stiles replied confidently. “They needed me as a negotiation tactic. If they killed me, they wouldn’t have been able to make a deal that you’d never go on their land again.”

 

“ _Me_?”

 

“Okay, fine,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “So that _I’d_ never go on their land again. Or Lydia. Oh, hey, speaking of Lydia. Have you seen her? Or heard from her?”

 

Scott said, “Lydia’s … dealing with her own stuff right now. But she’ll visit when she can.”

 

“She hasn’t text me or anything,” Stiles continued, still not understanding. “I can’t have done anything wrong this time — I’ve been unconscious.”

 

Scott still didn’t give anything away, which, although it irritated him, wasn’t surprising. Scott always held his own and remained impartial. He was Stiles’s best friend but he was also incredibly loyal to Lydia — and other members of the pack, of course. If they entrusted him with something, he held up his end of the deal.

 

“She’ll visit when she can,” he said again, his voice soft. “Just focus on getting better.”

 

“What happened with Elliot?” Stiles asked, frowning. He remembered before he’d left the wedding that Elliot had asked Lydia to marry him. Maybe _that_ was keeping her busy. Maybe she was busy planning her wedding.

 

“What do you mean?” Scott asked.

 

“He asked her to freaking marry him. Right there at the wedding.” Stiles snorted. “Tacky. Lydia would never have gone for it … Right?”

 

“Stiles.”

 

“I’m just _curious_ ,” Stiles replied, shrugging. “She’s my friend, Scott. Did she say yes? Are they married?” His voice lost its power and he sounded uncertain, scared, even. “Oh God. Did Lydia get married?”

 

“Stop freaking out,” Scott told him sternly. “She’s not married, for God’s sake, Stiles. You got into the hospital _last night_. Do you really think that the first thing Lydia would do after the night we’ve had is to find Elliot and go get married? No. Of course she wouldn’t.”

 

Stiles nodded. “You’re right.”

 

“Don’t worry about her,” Scott continued. He seemed more convinced now, but Stiles noticed he wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Just worry about yourself.”

 

But Stiles did not feel placated. And he _was_ worried about her. He knew that had been Scott’s intention: to calm him down and stop him from asking questions. But what could Lydia possibly be doing that was more important?

 

Especially since he _remembered_ her in that weird little space with him. _She’d_ been the one to find him. _She’d_ been talking to him softly, telling him everything would be okay. _She’d_ been there for him.

 

How could she suddenly not want to see him? It didn’t make any sense.

 

Even after Scott left, Stiles couldn’t stop thinking about it. He messaged her a few times and called her once, but it rang through until eventually her machine picked it up. He left a message, trying not to sound too weird and like he was just casually enquiring if she was okay, but it sounded on edge even to him.

 

He just wanted to know what had happened.

 

Had he said something? He’d been so out of it, passing out due to the pain in his arm, that he couldn’t remember exactly what had happened when she’d found him. He just remembered her being there. He remembered the soft fabric of her dress brushing against him and the smell of her shampoo.

 

He waited for another day, but Lydia didn’t show up.

 

Others showed up — Kira and Malia, Liam, Mason, his dad, Melissa, Scott again — and sat with him, but Lydia was nowhere to be seen.

 

After his many visitors, Stiles waited a few more hours. He kept hoping that she’d walk in with a tacky balloon and an apologetic smile, rushing over to him and telling him that she’d made it there as fast as she could.

 

But she never came.

 

That night, Stiles fell asleep, dreaming restlessly about Lydia.

 

___________________________________

 

Stiles slung his duffel bag onto his bed and winced, shutting his eyes for a second to get through the pain, before he sat down on the bed beside it.

 

“You okay?” Noah asked from the doorway.

 

“Yeah,” Stiles answered. “Just forgot I can’t really … move like that right now. Not without aching everywhere.”

 

He looked down at his arm, hanging heavily in a black cast, and shook his head. _Everything_ they’d been through together and he’d been freaking kidnapped at his dad’s wedding, his arm broken in three places and then left to deal with it in some empty, dark field.

 

“It’ll heal,” Noah said to him.

 

Noah had been hanging around Stiles as much as possible, collecting him from the hospital earlier that day and making sure he didn’t do anything that exerted much energy at all. He’d followed him upstairs and now didn’t seem to want to leave him alone in his room.

 

“Dad,” Stiles said, “you don’t need to make sure I’m okay. I’m fine. It’s just a few broken bones.”

 

“Son, are you going to tell me what _actually_ happened?” Noah asked plainly.

 

Ah. So, it _wasn’t_ just fatherly concern. Noah had been waiting for Stiles to tell him the truth.

 

“I think it’s best that you don’t know, Pops,” Stiles told him. “Just go downstairs and plan your honeymoon with your new wife, okay? I’m probably just going to take a nap up here.”

 

 _And check my phone for the billionth time for any messages from Lydia_ , he thought. He still hadn’t heard anything from her. He’d tried calling her a few times but it had gone straight to her kind of bored sounding message: _Hey, you’ve reached Lydia Martin. Leave a message if you need me to get back to you._

 

He’d left one message. After that, he felt like he was bordering on desperate.

 

“I’ll check on you in an hour, okay?” Noah said, but thankfully he started to back away from the door.

 

Stiles sighed with relief at his father’s retreating footsteps.

 

He shuffled back on his bed, propping himself up with the pillows around him. He rested his arm awkwardly next to him, praying that he didn’t roll over and squash it during his nap.

 

Despite the fact that Stiles had been slept on and off for the past eighteen hours, he was still exhausted. His eyes drifted shut.

 

When he opened them again, something had changed.

 

A person was laying beside him; her strawberry blonde hair spilled over his pillow and her hand was positioned just beside his. Her eyes were closed, fluttering while she slept, and her dress was a little bit crumpled.

 

He cleared his throat, trying to sit up so he could see her better — to see that it was really her and he hadn’t just dreamt her up — and his movement caused her to stir. She opened her eyes, looking over at him, and she smiled.

 

All his anger with her melted away.

 

That was what happened when Lydia Martin smiled at him. She put the world to rights.

 

“What are you doing here?” he asked her. He ached to brush the hair across her face away. He ached to touch her.

 

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” she replied.

 

“Two days later?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

 

She said, “I had things to do.” Then, she added, “Also, it’s been like, one day.”

 

“Like what?” Stiles asked, rolling over onto his side so he could see her properly. He ignored her second comment, instead focusing on her first one. “Getting married?”

 

“No,” Lydia replied, sighing. “You know, for the record, you should have _known_ I would say no to that. There was really no need for you to storm off. I knew you’d think it was ridiculous. So did I.”

 

Stiles looked at her, frowning. “Think it was _ridiculous_?” he repeated. “What? No, I thought —”

 

He stopped himself.

 

_I thought you might say yes._

 

_Then, I thought I might throw up._

 

“It doesn’t matter,” he said finally. “You said no. Good.”

 

“Of course,” Lydia said smoothly. “I would never have tagged my wedding onto the end of someone’s else’s. _Unbelievably_ tacky.”

 

“Right. _That’s_ the only thing wrong with it all.”

 

“What else was wrong with it?” Lydia asked gently.

 

He couldn’t tell what was going on. His mind flashed back to their conversation before Elliot had interrupted them to firstly accuse them of having an affair, and secondly to _propose._ Wild.

 

“You know what he said about us,” Stiles reminded her. What game was she playing? They were just going around in circles, with neither of them wanting to just be straight with the other.

 

“Stiles,” Lydia sat up, her tone suddenly more serious. “Elliot is my fiancé and I love him. Very much. I know what he said at the wedding — about _us_ — was a little surprising —”

 

“Surprising?” Stiles asked, interrupting her. “Come on, Lydia.”

 

Her face hardened. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say, Stiles. It was surprising to me.”

 

Stiles felt his face turn slack at her words. He’d thought … He’d been so convinced that she’d known _exactly_ what he was talking about at the wedding when he’d been trying to tell her that _of course_ the fucking speech had been about her.

 

Of course.

 

Because _everything_ was about her.

 

And when Scott had told him, then Malia had told _her_ , it all seemed to come together. It seemed to come together how everything in his life, for so long, had been about her.

 

He hadn’t told her at the time — he’d forcefully denied it — because he knew it would make things awkward, admitting it there at the wedding.

 

But then …

 

When she’d said to him that nothing had ever happened between them, it had felt like his world had come crashing down around him. Nothing had ever happened between them? They’d been through so much together. And through all of that, they’d come together time and time again.

 

For God’s sake, Stiles thought irritably, he’d never have kissed _Scott_ in the locker room to calm him down from a panic attack.

 

How could she believe that made them just friends? How could she possibly think that?

 

All of a sudden, like a lightning rod had hit him, he came to the realisation that … Lydia didn’t love him.

 

Maybe he should have figured it out earlier. Maybe he should have pieced that together from the fact that she was engaged to another man, but part of him had been in denial. He’d always thought that someday, somehow, they might find their way to each other.

 

But not anymore.

 

Lydia didn’t love him.

 

And the miserable thing about it all was the realisation he’d come to very recently. In fact, only a few nights ago, when his arm had been throbbing and he’d genuinely thought some asshole alphas might just kill him.

 

He’d realised that he loved her.

 

After all these years. He loved her.

 

It was what he’d been trying to tell her in the field. The memory surfaced. He had been trying to tell her that he loved her. Even through the soaring pain of his arm and what was definitely concussion, he’d been trying to tell her that he loved her. He’d been afraid he wouldn’t get the chance again.

 

And he’d been right.

 

“Stiles,” She shook her head. He thought he saw tears in her eyes, but she blinked and the shininess disappeared. He must have imagined it — or maybe it was wishful thinking.

 

“I think you should go,” Stiles replied, turning away from her. “I’m tired and … my arm is hurting. I need to rest, so …”

 

“Stiles,” Lydia said again, her voice catching. She was upset. He’d hurt her. “Don’t push me away again.”

 

But he could feel it happening. He needed to separate himself from her and her upcoming _marriage._

 

That was what it was. A marriage. She was going to be somebody’s wife.

 

“I’m not pushing you away,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. “We’re still friends, Lydia. I just think I need to get some sleep.”

 

He forced himself to look at her and attempt a smile, only to wish he hadn’t. The look on her face killed him. She looked like he’d just ripped out her heart. All he wanted to do was reach out and pull her close to him, like he would have done without hesitation before all of this mess, but he didn’t want to give her mixed signals like that.

 

He couldn’t tell her to leave and say casually that they were friends, but then pull her close, kiss the top of her head and wipe the tears away. He had to just tell her to go. He had to forget all about it.

 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” she said softly. “Just tell me.”

 

“It’s best that you just leave and we forget all about this,” he said, shaking his head. He forced himself to look away from her. “Just go.”

 

Lydia reached for his hand, her hand so naturally fitting in his, her fingers filling the gaps between his. Her small hand warm, whereas his was cold.

 

“What you said at the wedding,” she said, her voice so quiet he had to strain to hear it, “of _course_ things have happened between us. Of course.”

 

He didn’t even know what to say to her, and she didn’t give him a chance. She squeezed his hand and left his room, with just the lingering smell of her perfume a reminder that she had even been there at all.

 

___________________________________

 

 

“Normally, I wouldn’t be freaking out about this turn of events.”

 

“Normally?” Scott asked, frowning. “When has this _ever_ happened to you before?”

 

“Remember when she kissed me?” Stiles suggested, and Scott rolled his eyes.

 

“Yes,” he answered, “only because you manage to weave it into seventy percent of every conversation we have. What does the kiss have to do with anything?”

 

“I don’t know,” Stiles replied, continuing to pace the length of his dad’s kitchen. Scott sat at the kitchen table, watching him, amused. “I just felt like bringing it up again.”

 

“Stiles.”

 

“I’m kidding,” he replied. “It’s relevant. When she kissed me, I _totally_ didn’t freak out. I just remained calm and collected —”

 

“Except you didn’t. I distinctly remember you running to my house immediately after to tell me. Despite the fact that your dad was in grave danger, you did _not_ keep your cool about it. You completely lost your cool.”

 

“Anyway,” Stiles continued, choosing to ignore this. “ _Normally_ , I wouldn’t be freaking out. Lydia has done plenty of crazy things in the past twelve years, and I feel like I’ve reacted pretty well to most. Usually, I wouldn’t freak out. But this time, I am. What the hell did she mean, Scott? What did she _mean_?”

 

“I … don’t know.”

 

“Exactly!” Stiles replied. “I don’t either. _Things have happened between us._ That’s what she said. She said _of course_ they have.”

 

“Okay,” Scott said, frowning. “But you know that they have. All she did was confirm that you already knew.”

 

“But she’d never admitted it before,” Stiles said. “It was always this … thing between us, but unspoken. Everything we went through, we never mentioned it after. We never talked about the long nights out at the field. We never talked about the kiss. We never really talked about the fact that she’s my emotional tether, she’s my freaking anchor. She brought me back from the dead. We never talked about any of it.”

 

“You always did have a connection,” Scott agreed. “We were all just used to it.”

 

“I just …” Stiles sighed. Then, he turned on Scott. “Did you know?”

 

“Know what?”

 

“That I love her,” Stiles said, the words still strange in his mouth. He hadn’t known when he’d figured it out, really. Maybe he’d always known.

 

Scott nodded. “I knew.”

 

“That I love her _now_ ,” Stiles continued, just to be sure.

 

Scott nodded again. “I always knew.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Stiles said, narrowing his eyes at his best friend. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

 

“Stiles,” Scott said, his tone serious. “It seemed like something that you needed to figure out for yourself.”

 

“I’m also mad at her,” Stiles continued. “The mixed signals are killing me. First of all, she claims that she has no idea what I’m talking about and makes me feel like I’ve gone crazy. And then she says … _that._ She says that things have happened between us. How is that fair?”

 

Stiles slumped into the chair beside Scott and groaned, closing his eyes. He thought back to the conversation he’d had with Lydia earlier that day. He’d been replaying it over and over in his head since, desperate to remember it. Every detail of it, even the less enjoyable parts.

 

“She’s getting married,” he said slowly. “To someone else.”

 

Scott nodded. “I know.”

 

“And I have to … What? Just watch her? Watch her say I do to some other asshole —”

 

“Some _other_ asshole?” Scott replied, allowing himself a tiny smile in the serious conversation. It sounded like Stiles was referring to himself as an asshole, too.

 

“Shut up,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes, “you know what I mean.”

 

Scott leaned forwards to look properly at Stiles. He’d been going round and round with Stiles and Lydia not really just for the last few days, but for the last twelve _years._ And for the most part, he’d let it go. He’d sat back, watched, sometimes rolled his eyes, offered a comment — but for the most part, he’d just let them get on with it.

 

Until now.

 

“Lydia is old enough to make her own decisions,” Scott told his best friend, controlling his voice to be as gentle as possible. “And she’s also smart enough to. She’ll make the right choice.”

 

“And what _is_ the right choice?”

 

“Whatever is right for her. It could be marrying Elliot.” Scott shrugged. “It could be breaking things off with Elliot and making it work with you. You have to let _her_ decide. This is not your decision and if you force her in any way, she will choose the opposite just to spite you.”

 

Stiles said glumly, “You’re right.”

 

“I know,” Scott agreed. “For the record, I’ve seen the two of you for the past few years. It’s always been you and Lydia. I really thought it would happen between you eventually.”

 

Stiles thought about it. He’d obviously had that ridiculous crush on Lydia for a _long_ time — an embarrassing amount of time, really — but he’d definitely gotten over that at some point, hadn’t he? He’d dated Malia … and some girls in college.

 

He hadn’t felt nervous and sweaty around Lydia for a long time, but he’d just been adapting to being her actual friend and having real conversations with her. When had that crush developed into love? When had he actually, properly, fallen in love with her?

 

In response to Scott, Stiles forced a quick smile. “Yeah, well,” he said finally. “Things happen. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.”

 

“You don’t believe that,” Scott answered gently.

 

“Maybe now I do,” Stiles said. He sounded — and felt — defeated. “Look, Lydia may have said that of course things have happened between us, but that’s exactly it. Things _happened_ between us. Past tense. You know what’s present tense? Elliot. Her freaking _husband_.”

 

“Fiancé,” Scott chipped in. “And … I shouldn’t really be telling you this, but they’ve been fighting. A lot.”

 

Stiles was quiet for a few seconds. Then, “I don’t think any of that matters. They’re still engaged.”

 

In just a matter of a few hours, Stiles had experienced so much. He’d been confused; he’d been excited; he’d been freaking out; he’d been defeated.

 

Now, he felt so … empty.

 

He’d realised that it didn’t matter if he realised he was in love with Lydia. She was in love with someone else. What, really, did her confession mean? It meant that they might have had something _once._ A long time ago — years ago! It didn’t change things _now._

 

And he couldn’t change things for her by telling her.

 

He couldn’t tell her. She was happy. And Scott was right: if he _did_ tell her and implied that he needed her to choose, she would choose the opposite because she’d be pissed at him. This  _was_ Lydia they were talking about. She never did anything she didn’t want to.

 

So … what did he do? What _could_ he do?

 

He could make sure that he was the best friend he could be to Lydia — the friend he’d been to her in school and through college — and he’d never tell.

 

He would never tell her the truth.


	13. 20 hours after

Lydia twirled her engagement ring around her finger, watching how it caught the light and sparkled brightly.

 

She felt someone approaching her and Elliot hugged her from behind, brushing her hair aside to drop a kiss on her neck.

 

“Hey,” he said, sliding onto the stool at the kitchen counter just beside her. “Where were you this afternoon?”

 

Lydia idly looked down at her coffee cup, which had long gone cold. She’d made it about two hours earlier and had been sitting with it since.

 

“I went to see Stiles,” she said, not even bothering to hide the truth. What did it matter? What did _any_ of it matter?

 

Elliot immediately bristled. She could feel the atmosphere being sucked out of the room. “What’s wrong with him?”

 

“Broken arm,” she told him.

 

She hadn’t explained to Elliot what had happened at the wedding and had so far managed to avoid explaining why she’d run away to “run an errand” halfway through. Although, the only reason she’d avoided talking about it so far was because they’d spent the past few days going round and round on other things. Namely, their relationship.

 

It was why she hadn’t gone to the hospital to visit Stiles.

 

“Ouch,” Elliots said finally, sounding very unsympathetic. “Sounds painful. Would you like a coffee?”

 

“I’ve got one, thanks,” she replied.

 

“It’s cold,” Elliot told her.

 

“I know.”

 

He looked at her for a little while longer, before sighing and getting up. He started making a cup of coffee with his back turned to her, but then he dropped the spoon onto the counter and it clattered loudly, startling her. He turned around to face her.

 

“We need to talk about all of this,” he said.

 

Lydia drew in a deep breath. “We _have_ talked about this. What else is there for us to talk about?”

 

“The fact that we talked for hours about your relationship with Stiles,” Elliot said, “and about how it affects me, how it makes me feel, _why_ it made me go crazy and propose actual marriage to you the other night. And then, after all those hours, the first thing you do when we stop talking is go and see him?”

 

“He’s sick,” she replied flatly. “And he’s my friend.”

 

“But we both know that isn’t all of it!” Elliot snapped in response. He shook his head. “We both know there’s more to it than that.”

 

Lydia had spent the last few days just _thinking._ Thinking and talking to Elliot. She was fed up of thinking and talking. She got to her feet.

 

“I’m going out,” she said dully.

 

“Where?”

 

“I don’t know,” she replied. “Anywhere but here.”

 

She left her cold cup of coffee on the counter, grabbed her favourite leather jacket off the coat rack in Scott’s hallway, and left the house. She got into Scott’s car and took a deep breath before starting the engine.

 

She’d been lying.

 

Of course she knew where she was going, she just didn’t want him to follow her.

 

___________________________________

 

 

_Allison Argent. Beloved daughter and friend._

 

“So,” Lydia began, pursing her lips thoughtfully as she settled down onto the ground beside Allison’s grave. “I know it’s been a while, but things have been busy over in New York and with the wedding and everything. Hey, I wish you could have been there. I’m sure you would have been a bridesmaid, too — maybe even beat me for maid of honour.”

 

The wind rustled the trees a little bit and, of course, there was no answer.

 

“Things are kind of a mess,” Lydia continued, shaking her head, “and you always gave really good advice. Remember the days when I _wanted_ this drama? I wanted Jackson and I wanted Aidan and I always wanted the bad guys. The most exciting ones. Well, turns out relationship drama isn’t nearly as fun as it was in high school.”

 

She picked up a leaf from the ground and ran her fingers along it.

 

“I guess you know what’s going on,” Lydia said finally, issuing a long sigh. “And I know what you’d say. You’d tell me that I _know_ what the answer is and I should just do it. You’d tell me to follow my heart, not my head. You’d tell me to stop thinking so much.

 

“I know that you’d be right. But the problem is no matter what I decide, somebody gets hurt, so …” Lydia trailed off. She sighed. “I always used to choose the bad guy … but I don’t think that there _is_ a bad guy this time.”

 

She felt at a loss. The worst thing about it all was that the one person she would normally go to when she had a problem she couldn’t figure out how to resolve, she couldn’t go to him.

 

Because the entire freaking problem was _about_ him.

 

So, she felt like she was dealing with it by herself. She couldn’t go to anyone. There was nobody impartial; they were all Stiles’s friends too. They all loved him just as much as they loved her.

 

Just as she was thinking this, wishing — not for the first time — that Allison would prove to her that ghosts _did_ exist by popping up and nagging her about making a goddamn decision, she heard the crunching of leaves as someone approached her.

 

For a second, she was hopeful that it would be Stiles. It would be the perfect time to explain herself more: why she admitted that things had happened between them, then chickened out and just _left_ ; why she’d pretended she didn’t know what he was talking about, when she obviously did. She’d always known that there was something beneath the surface with her and Stiles, but she’d been to afraid to admit it.

 

She could just … somehow explain everything.

 

But it wasn’t Stiles. It was Scott.

 

He approached her with his hands in his pockets and a sympathetic, understanding and very … Scott-like smile on his face.

 

“Hey,” he said. “Mind if I join you?”

 

She shrugged. “There’s room for one more.”

 

Scott sat down beside her and looked at the grave. Lydia wondered how he was doing these days. She was so wrapped up in her own problems that she sometimes forgot to ask him about _his_ life.

 

“I miss her,” she said.

 

Scott nodded. “Me too. Everyday.”

 

“She loved you,” Lydia told him, though he already knew this. “Probably the most. But I was a close second.”

 

“No,” Scott replied, shaking his head. “You were always first. It’s okay. I accepted it a long time ago.”

 

“Just like Stiles is first for you?”

 

He nodded. “Just like that.”

 

“So,” she said, “I guess you know.”

 

Again, Scott nodded. He was very much a fan of the one-sided conversation. He liked to make her work for it sometimes; admit things that she wouldn’t normally because the silence drove her crazy.

 

“It’s all a mess,” she confessed, shrugging. “And I don’t know what to do. It’s why I came here. I thought … I thought she could help.”

 

“What’s the problem, Lydia?” Scott asked, his voice gentle.

 

With anyone else, she might shy away from telling the truth. She might omit details. She might lie about other things. But with Scott there was no point. He’d be able to tell if she was lying, sure, but she also didn’t _want_ to lie. She knew that she could wholeheartedly trust him.

 

“I’ve been fighting with Elliot,” she started. “That’s why I didn’t visit Stiles in hospital. I mean, I guess you know that because we were fighting in your house.”

 

Scott grimaced. “I tried not to listen.”

 

“It doesn’t matter if you did,” she said, “I know you can’t avoid it. Especially with that hearing trick of yours.”

 

“It does … make it hard _not_ to listen in.”

 

She nodded. “He thinks that there’s something going on between Stiles and me. I’ve been trying to explain to him that it isn’t like that — we’re not together. We’ve never been together. But … part of me knows that I’m not telling the full truth. Maybe we’ve never been together, but that doesn’t mean we’ve only ever been just friends.”

 

Scott nodded, understanding this without a word.

 

“He’s just …” She shrugged. “You know the connection that we have, Scott. We’ve _always_ had it. Ever since that emotional tether and everything else. It draws us back in, even when we don’t want to be drawn. It’s like we just can’t help it. We fit together, and we always have. Coming back here has only made it stronger.”

 

Scott said, “Have you told Stiles this?”

 

“Of course not,” she replied. “I can’t. Of course I can’t. Besides, he’s mad at me for what happened. For all the confusion.”

 

Lydia could barely bring herself to articulate … _what_ had happened. That entire situation was too much for her to think about.

 

“Maybe right now,” Scott answered slowly, shaking his head. “But he just needs some … gentle persuasion.”

 

“I know,” she replied, pursing her lips in annoyance. All she wanted was for someone to just tell her the answer. Just tell her exactly what she should do. “I need to talk to Elliot first. I know he’s waiting for an answer.”

 

“What do you think you’ll do?”

 

“I don’t know,” she replied, getting to her feet.

 

“Do you need a ride?”

 

“No,” She sighed. “I … sort of stormed out. And I took one of your cars. Sorry.”

 

“Sort of stormed out?” he asked, then added, “And you took my car?”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, I _did_ storm out. But you have no idea how frustrating it is to go round and round in circles, saying the same thing but a little bit differently each time, with slightly different intonation. It’s enough to drive anyone crazy.”

 

They began walking back to the cars together; Lydia could see the one she’d driven in, parked a short distance away from the gates to the church grounds. She was just glad that Scott had two and she hadn’t accidentally left him without any transport.

 

As they walked, she wished that the walk to the car would last a lifetime. She really didn’t want to go back to Scott’s and face Elliot, not in the mood he was bound to be in.

 

“For what it’s worth,” Scott began, “I know that you’ll be able to work something out, Lydia. That’s what you’re good at. Figuring out a solution.”

 

“Maybe not this time,” Lydia mused. They reached the cars and Lydia turned to Scott. “Is there any way that you can … force Stiles to be in the same room as me for, like, thirty minutes so that I can talk to him and explain myself?”

 

Scott smiled. “I could try to make that happen.”

 

“The less chance of either of us running away, the better,” she continued, opening her car door. “I’m talking maximum security.”

 

“Got it,” Scott answered.

 

She got into the car, pulling down the visor to look at her lipstick. “Okay,” she announced. “I guess I have to go. I’ll see you back at yours.”

 

“I’ll give you some space,” Scott said.

 

Lydia nodded, put the car into drive, and headed off to face the music.

 

___________________________________

 

 

Elliot was in the kitchen when she returned, opening the front door and stepping inside tentatively. She practically crept into the kitchen, then stopped when she saw him sitting at the island counter.

 

He had a cup of coffee in front of him and he looked tired, even though it hadn’t been more than a few hours since she’d left. She approached him quietly, laying her car keys on the counter.

 

“Hi,” she said.

 

He looked at her. “Hey. Where did you go?”

 

“To Allison’s grave,” she told him. His expression changed and she suspected he’d assumed she’d gone straight to see Stiles. She felt a little bit better about it all then.

 

“Oh,” he replied. “Right.”

 

“I had to think — and when I’m home, that’s my best place to think. She always a good listener, but she was much better at giving advice.”

 

Elliot smiled. “You said home.”

 

“What?”

 

“You said, _when I’m home_ ,” he repeated. “You think of Beacon Hills as your home still?”

 

“Of course,” Lydia replied. “I love New York and I always will, but this _is_ home.”

 

“Then maybe you should stay here,” Elliot said finally, sighing. He peered at her, waiting for her reaction, but she didn’t quite understand what he was getting at.

 

She pursed her lips in thought. “What do you mean?”

 

“I mean … I belong in New York,” Elliot told her. “And maybe you belong here. Look, you know that I’m not _technically_ from New York. I tell people that I am, but Jersey City doesn’t count as much as anybody wants it to.”

 

Lydia nodded in agreement, but didn’t reply.

 

“I’ve lived in New York since I was sixteen, but I’m from Jersey City.”

 

“Does any of this have a point?” Lydia asked, only half-joking.

 

“I would never call Jersey City home. To me, New York is home.”

 

Lydia opened her mouth to reply, but she couldn’t quite articulate how she felt. In the end, all she said was, “Oh.”

 

“But you clearly belong here,” Elliot said, “and whether you belong with Stiles or not is another matter — and one that I don’t want to get involved in — but I think it’s time we were both honest with each other. It doesn’t feel right anymore.”

 

“What doesn’t?” Lydia asked, almost afraid to find out the answer.

 

He looked at her, his expression soft and sad. They both knew.

 

“Us,” he finished.

 

For what it was worth, Lydia felt a deep ache inside her as she tried to come to terms with what was going on.

 

“Elliot,” she began, shaking her head. “I still love you …”

 

“You just —” Elliot concluded, his voice catching — “love this … and him more.”

 

“I didn’t want this to happen and I never intended for it to, either.”

 

“He loves you,” Elliot said. “You should be here with him.”

 

She twisted the engagement ring on her finger sadly, then took it off quickly, like ripping off a band-aid. “Here.” She uncurled his fingers and laid the ring in the palm of his hand, then clasped his hands in her own.

 

“Thanks,” he replied. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be,” she said quickly.

 

She didn’t want him thinking he had anything to be apologetic for. Sure, they’d argued and sure, he’d overreacted with the whole Stiles thing and had been wildly ridiculous by proposing marriage to her in the _middle of another wedding_ , but he’d been the perfect fiancé and boyfriend for years. She would miss him.

 

She loved him, she just didn’t love him like she loved Stiles.

 

“It’ll be weird without you,” she said. “It’s been the two of us for so long.”

 

Elliot finished the rest of his coffee and stood up, pushing back the chair he’d been sitting in. He reached next to him, picking up his duffel bag. Lydia hadn’t even noticed it was there. This conversation hadn’t been spontaneous; he’d packed while she’d been gone.

 

“I know, but we’ll adjust,” he said, seeming sure. “You can come and get your stuff from the New York apartment whenever is convenient, or I can ship it out to you if you’re planning on hanging around here for a while.”

 

“I … don’t know what I’ll do,” Lydia replied. There seemed to be no point in hiding things from him anymore. “I don’t know what will happen with Stiles, to be completely honest.”

 

Elliot hoisted the bag onto his shoulder, looking extremely uncomfortable. Lydia supposed that, even though things had ended on good terms, he still didn’t really want to discuss her relationship with Stiles. Maybe it was too soon for that.

 

“Just … be yourself,” he said finally. “That’s why he loves you. It’s why I love you.”

 

He drew her close to him, kissing her forehead, and there was an awkward pause when he pulled away.

 

She said, “Uh, do you need a ride to the airport? I already stole Scott’s car once today, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I did it again.”

 

Elliot laughed, but shook his head. “I’m fine. I called for a cab. It’ll be here in about —” A car horn beeped from outside and his face cleared. “Right now, I guess.”

 

“Have a safe flight,” Lydia said, as Elliot brushed past her on his way to the front door.

 

She didn’t know what else to say to him. How could she thank him for everything he’d done for her — what he was _currently_ doing for her — in the time it took for him to reach the door?

 

“Thanks. I’ll let you know when we land — if that’s okay.”

 

“Of course,” She nodded. “Please do.”

 

She opened the door and he glanced back at her, sighing.

 

“Look,” he said, “if you don’t know what to do about Stiles, just … My one piece of advice is you shouldn’t waste any time. As soon as you see him, you’ll know what to say.”

 

Lydia nodded. “Okay.”

 

“Let me know if you need to come to the apartment,” he said, before he tightened his grip on the handle of his bag and headed up the pathway to Scott’s house.

 

She wondered if he would turn around to look back at her, but he opened the door to the cab and climbed inside without looking back at all.

 

She watched until the cab had driven away. She watched until she couldn’t see or hear it anymore, then she shut the door. For ten minutes, Lydia paced the entire house. She didn’t know if she could go to Stiles _immediately._ Surely he was still upset with her for everything she’d done earlier. She’d been giving so many mixed messages, it had been unfair to him. She’d pretended to have no idea what he was talking about when he’d mentioned their history.

 

She needed to apologise. She had to make him understand, but she didn’t think he would even let her talk to him. He probably wanted nothing to do with her.

 

But she had to try.

 

Lydia grabbed Scott’s car keys and jogged up the path to the car, jumping in it and reversing out of the driveway. She sped towards the Stilinskis’, a feeling of anticipation and excitement coursing through her.

 

Although she wasn’t sure what would await her, she was excited. She was excited to be able to acknowledge what had happened between her and Stiles, the connection they had. She was excited to be able to tell him that she remembered their kiss in the locker room — the best kiss of her damn life — and she’d thought about it everyday since. She was excited to tell him that she was pretty sure she’d spent the past twelve years in love with him, she just hadn’t known it.

 

She was excited —

 

She was so excited that she hadn’t noticed the speedometer on the car increasing until she heard police sirens behind her. She glanced in the mirror, hoping the sirens weren’t intended for her, but the patrol car was directly behind her, flashing her to pull over.

 

“Great,” Lydia muttered, pulling over to the side of the empty road. She rolled down the window, ready to beg for forgiveness and swear she would never do it again, when the Sheriff appeared at her window.

 

Thank _God._

 

“Oh, Sheriff,” she said, sighing with relief. “I know that I was speeding, but —”

 

“Lydia,” Noah said, frowning. “Did you know that you were going thirty-five in a thirty?”

 

“Mmm, I did, but I was just —”

 

“So you were _purposefully_ speeding?” Noah asked her.

 

“No, not purposeful. It was not on purpose.”

 

“I can let you off with a warning, Lydia —”

 

“Oh, thank you, Sheriff,” she said. “I really appreciate that.”

 

“ _But_ ,” Noah continued, “you appear to be driving a car that does not belong to you.”

 

Lydia stared back at him. “It’s Scott’s car. I’m borrowing it.”

 

“Interesting.” He looked down at a notepad he had taken out of his pocket. “This car has just been reported as missing.”

 

“ _Missing_?” she repeated. “Are you joking?”

 

“I don’t joke about these matters, Lydia. Now, I’m going to need to take you down to the station.”

 

“Sheriff —”

 

“Anything you say can or will be held against you,” the Sheriff said. “I need you to step out of the vehicle and come with me.”

 

“Sheriff —!”

 

“Miss Martin, I advise you to be co-operative here,” Noah stepped away from the car and Lydia opened the car door, feeling like all of this formality was utterly ridiculous. A few days ago, she’d been at the Sheriff’s freaking _wedding_ — she’d been the maid of goddamn honour — and he was taking her to the _station_?

 

As they walked to the patrol car, the Sheriff said, “I don’t want to do this, Lydia. I’m just doing my duty.”

 

“Sheriff, come on,” she said.

 

But he opened the backseat door for her and she had no choice but to climb in.


	14. 22 hours after

Stiles paced the kitchen of his dad’s house, a cup of coffee in one hand and his phone balanced precariously on top of his cast.

 

He’d decided only a few hours ago that he would forget about Lydia — he’d just forget about her, it couldn’t be _that_ difficult — but he already felt an overwhelming urge to call her and check on her. He didn’t even know why he felt like he needed to. Something was urging him to. Something was pulling on him to make sure that she was okay, but he was trying his best to ignore it.

 

Because he was trying to move on.

 

As he paced, Melissa appeared in the doorway. She watched him for a few seconds, walking back and forth, before she couldn’t hold her comment back any longer.

 

“Stiles,” she said, and he stopped walking to look at Melissa. “What are you doing?”

 

“Thinking and walking.”

 

“I can see that, but … What’s on your mind?”

 

He took a sip of coffee. “Lydia.”

 

“Of course,” she said with a smile. “Have you told her yet?”

 

“Told her what?”

 

“Told her that you love her,” Melissa said, like it was completely obvious.

 

“What? No, I — that isn’t — I don’t —” He stopped. He sighed. “So, _you_ know too?”

 

“I think everybody knows.”

 

“Even Lydia?”

 

“No,” Melissa replied. “Not Lydia. Look, Stiles, why don’t you just go and tell her how you feel?”

 

“I’m mad at her,” he said. “And she’s still engaged to somebody else. I’m trying to forget about her.”

 

“Which is why you’ve been pacing this kitchen for the past half-hour and you’re clutching your phone like it’s a lifeline?” Melissa asked. She raised her eyebrows. “You can’t just _forget_ about Lydia, Stiles. You’ve been in love with her for years now. You just need to tell her.”

 

“But …”

 

“But what?” Melissa asked.

 

“She’s engaged, and that won’t change. I’ll look like an idiot, I’ll ruin our friendship, then I really _will_ have to forget all about her because she won’t ever want to talk to me again. Not without thinking that I’m secretly pining over her. Which I _am_ , always. For the record.”

 

“Unless you tell her, you’ll never know,” Melissa said. “I’ve seen the way that girl looks at you. Maybe she feels it too.”

 

Stiles didn’t believe Melissa, but he appreciated whatever she was trying to do. He just couldn’t imagine risking it, risking _everything_ to tell her how he felt. What was the point?

 

And then his phone started to ring. An unknown number, but he accepted it anyway after some difficulty of balancing the coffee while grabbing the phone. He just about succeeded as Melissa looked on, entertained.

 

“Hello?” he asked.

 

“Stiles?” Lydia’s voice came through to him. “Is that you?”

 

“Yeah, it’s me. What’s up?”

 

“I’m sorry to call — your number is the only one I have memorised,” she answered.

 

“Okay,” he continued, warmed by that. “What’s wrong? How come you’re not using your phone?”

 

“I’m at the Sheriff’s station,” she explained. “Your dad has taken me here and locked me up for driving a car that has been registered as missing.”

 

“Holy sh —” he began, then stopped when he realised Melissa was still standing in the room, listening to all of this with some interest. He turned away from her. “You’re kidding. You _stole_ a _car_?”

 

“No!” Lydia cried. “It’s _Scott’s_ car. Listen, I need you to come down to the station and help me explain to your father what’s going on. He’s refusing to listen to me, but he _did_ give me this phone call. I’m actually in a freaking cell, Stiles.”

 

“Okay, okay,” Stiles said, unable to keep the smile off his face. Really, after all these years, it was about time one of them got arrested for something. “I’m coming. Just … stay put.”

 

“I don’t have much of a choice,” Lydia snapped, before she hung up.

 

Stiles grabbed his car keys, spinning around to face Melissa.

 

“I have to go,” he said.

 

“Where?”

 

“To pick Lydia up from jail,” Stiles told her, heading past her. Then, he turned back to look at her, realising that his exit couldn’t quite be as dramatic as he had envisioned. He smiled, slightly sheepish. “Actually, can you give me a ride? I can’t drive with this thing on.”

 

___________________________________

 

 

Lydia sat in the cell, glaring at the back of Noah Stilinski’s head with menace. She’d been sitting in the cell for thirty-five minutes already and nobody had said much to her about what was going on.

 

Noah had spoken to her earlier to give her the phone call, then stood waiting until she’d called Stiles. Once she’d explained the situation to Stiles — she was kicking herself for not memorising Scott’s number, or literally anyone other than Stiles’s — and he said he was coming, she’d sat down and hadn’t moved since.

 

Noah got up from his seat.

 

“Sheriff,” she called out, and he turned around. She got up hurriedly and stepped over to the bars, even grabbing onto them. “I didn’t steal that car. It’s Scott’s. You can call him and ask him — he’s _literally_ your stepson, you can trust what he tells you.”

 

The Sheriff stepped closer to the holding cell. “He’s not answering his phone and until I can get in touch with him to confirm your story, there’s nothing I can do. Did you call Stiles?”

 

“Yes, he’s on his way,” Lydia answered tensely. “This is not fair, you know. And Scott won’t confirm my _story_ , because it’s not a story! It’s the truth!”

 

“Lydia,” Noah said with his hands on his hips. “You need to calm down.”

 

“Do _not_ tell me to —”

 

“Whoa, whoa,” a voice said from behind Noah, and Noah stepped aside to reveal Stiles, rushing into the station. “Lydia. What the hell is going on?”

 

Lydia noticed the slight smile on his face as he clocked her standing in the cell, and she hastily took a step away from the bars so she didn’t look like a criminal. Stiles said something to his dad, something that Lydia couldn’t hear, then stepped closer to her.

 

“Hey, jailbird.”

 

“Jailbird?” she repeated. “ _That’s_ the best you could come up?”

 

“I know, I know. The opportunity was too good, there was way too much pressure to come up with something witty and I panicked.” He rubbed his chin. “So, they finally locked you up?”

 

“Your _dad_ locked me up for driving Scott’s car,” Lydia replied.

 

“Look, son,” Noah said, stepping forwards. He’d been waiting nearby to jump into the conversation, much to Lydia’s frustration. It was almost like the Sheriff was _enjoying_ this. “I can’t release Lydia until Scott calls me to confirm about the car. I’m sorry, that’s just how we have to deal with things.”

 

“You know that Lydia would never steal a car,” Stiles told his dad plainly. “She’s not a car thief, she’s _Lydia_. She was your wife’s maid of honour like, two days ago.”

 

“I can’t play favourites, son,” Noah answered. He reached for the cell door. “You can join her, if you like.”

 

“Are you arresting _me_ now?”

 

“No,” Noah replied. “Just keep her company.”

 

“Or,” Lydia suggested, “you could let me out? Stiles could keep me company outside of the cell?”

 

The Sheriff shook his head. “Rules are rules. I’m bending them even letting him in there.”

 

He opened the door to allow Stiles in, and then slid it shut after him, locking it. Both Stiles and Lydia watched as he attached the keys to his belt, grinning at them.

 

“Have fun kids.”

 

Lydia groaned and reclaimed her seat on the bench in the cell. Stiles stood up for a while, before he took up a seat next to her.

 

“I _cannot_ believe this,” she muttered.

 

“Don’t worry about all of this …” Stiles gestured around them. “You’re not really in trouble.”

 

“Yeah, well, your dad seems to think differently. He put me in a cell, Stiles. He locked me up.”

 

“For formality,” Stiles reminded her. “Scott will call, confirm that you were just borrowing the car, and it will all be fine.”

 

“Right,” Lydia answered softly. “It will all be fine.”

 

Lydia looked at Stiles properly for the first time in a while. His arm was in the cast but he otherwise looked the same. So familiar and warm. He was wearing a plaid shirt and the sleeves were a little too long for him. She knew that she needed to update him on so much, as well as apologise for what had happened earlier, but really, she was all talked out.

 

“Is your arm okay?”

 

“It’s nothing,” he said, looking at the plaster. “Although it’s not easy navigating life with a giant cast.”

 

“I’m sorry,” she replied.

 

“It’s not your fault, Lydia.”

 

“It kind of is.”

 

“Nope, not this time. I took you to that field, I insisted we go for a late-night drive. _I_ enticed _you_ ; you had nothing to do with it, you were just an innocent bystander. So don’t blame yourself, okay? You are not to blame. I was there, and I was the instigator of everything.”

 

Lydia raised her eyebrows, nudging him. “I went along with it all. Don’t ever blame yourself for a broken arm, okay? Those alphas did that to you.”

 

“I know,” Stiles said, “but we’re … keeping quiet on that. My pops still doesn’t know.”

 

Lydia nodded. “Right.” She took a deep breath. “So, Elliot left.”

 

“He did?”

 

“He’s going back to New York.”

 

She thought that Stiles might have a bigger reaction, but he just nodded slowly.

 

“Right, right … So, when are you going back?”

 

“I … don’t know,” Lydia replied, rolling her eyes. Stiles could be so dense sometimes. When she spoke again, she made sure she enunciate every word. “Elliot went back _by himself_.”

 

Stiles looked at her, straightening up. “You mean that … you’re here and he’s there? Like, he’s gone back … and you didn’t? He —”

 

“Stiles,” She placed a hand over his, calming him. “We broke up. Elliot has gone back to New York alone, and I … don’t know what I’m going to do.”

 

“You’re serious?”

 

“Completely.”

 

He nodded, like he was processing this information slowly.

 

“Wow,” he said, still nodding. “That is … Interesting. What happened?”

 

“We had some disagreements about … a few things, and he decided that it would be better if he returned to New York. It was mutual and I offered to give him a ride to the airport. Thank God he didn’t accept, or he’d be in this holding cell with us, making it _incredibly_ awkward.”

 

Lydia finished, looking over at Stiles, sitting beside her. And she waited to see what he would say.

 

___________________________________

 

“Wow,” Stiles said again, after what felt like a long pause. He shook his head, trying to process everything Lydia was saying to him.

 

It was _over_ between her and Elliot. He glanced at her ring finger, and sure enough, it was bare. His heart started thudding inside his chest, his hopes rising.

 

 _Why_ had they broken up? What had their “disagreements” been over? Was it possible that …? No, surely not. They’d never argue over _him._

 

“Stiles,” Lydia continued, apparently satisfied enough with his one-word answer to carry on. “What happened earlier … I know that wasn’t fair. I know that you’re mad at me and you have every right to be, I shouldn’t have given you mixed messages this morning.”

 

“No, Lydia, it’s fine. I confused our relationship with my speech at the wedding, and then desperately trying to remind you of everything we’ve been through together.” He shook his head. “I’ve spent the past few days realising something and it’s hitting me harder than I thought. I guess I just didn’t know how to express it.”

 

“What have you realised?” Lydia asked, frowning.

 

He shrugged, smiling at her. He’d built it up so much in his head, what he could say to her, _how_ he would say it. How would he knew when the right moment was? He’d thought about it so many times, but here they were, sitting in a holding cell. It was nothing like he’d imagined. It certainly _wasn’t_ the right time, and yet …

 

All he could think was how much he loved her, and how she wasn’t engaged anymore, and how it might be moving on way too fast and it _could_ make things weird … But he knew he couldn’t go another twelve years without telling her what he’d secretly known all along.

 

“That I love you,” he told her, that same delirious smile on his face. “I’m pretty sure that I’ve loved you for years. Through all of it; everything that we’ve been through has only made me love you more. Especially these past few days. That’s what I was trying to tell you in the field when you saved me. I was trying to tell you that … I’m in love with you.”

 

Lydia was staring at him like he’d grown another head, and for just a second he felt terrified that he’d freaked her out completely. That he’d totally misread it.

 

He pushed through, hoping that if he just kept talking, she’d get used to the idea.

 

“Um, so the speech was about you,” he said, frowning thoughtfully. “In fact, pretty much all of it is about you. I pushed you away because I hated that you were engaged. I was jealous — out of my _mind_ jealous. But I didn’t want to hate it, so I just tried to forget about all of it. I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to do. I was trying to bury it. Like, deep, _deep_ down. But it didn’t work … Lydia.” He stopped. He didn’t think he could physically talk for any longer. “Can you say something? Anything?”

 

She shook her head.

 

“Okay, I’ll keep going,” he said, shrugging. Now he had started, he was finding it difficult to stop. “You know, when I had a crush on you back in third grade, I never imagined it would _actually_ go like this. All those hours we spent, working as a team, trying to solve supernatural cases … I got to see how brilliant you were. I must have spent most of my high school career completely fascinated by you and everything you could do. You’re just … You’re my best friend, Lydia. I’d do anything for you.”

 

Lydia hid a smile, then rolled her eyes in a typical Lydia Martin way. He wanted to take both her hands in his hands but he didn’t want to freak her out even more.

 

“Stiles,” she said, looking at him. She sighed. “I have something to tell you too.”

 

___________________________________

 

She could see the look on his face — the colour draining from it, leaving him slightly pale — change at her words, but then she reached for his hands.

 

“Elliot broke up with me because he was insistent something was going on between us,” she told him, “and I … didn’t really see it. See, for so long, you’ve just been this … _constant_ in my life. We’ve had this connection for as long as I can remember. I can’t count the amount of times you’ve saved my life, both figuratively and literally.”

 

“And you’ve returned the favour numerous times,” Stiles chipped in.

 

“We always seemed to be there for each other, but I didn’t understand what Elliot meant when he was saying all of this to me. This has just always been our relationship — our _friendship._ You’ve always been the one person I can count on, no matter on, especially since Allison passed away. You’ve always been there for me and my number one supporter.”

 

“It isn’t hard to be your biggest fan,” he told her.

 

“And you came to get me from jail,” she said, laughing even as tears welled up in her eyes. “I knew your number. I don’t even know _my_ number — but I knew yours. Elliot couldn’t get used to how I said that Beacon Hills is my home, he thinks of New York as his home and … It was all this complicated thing. I won’t tell you the details.”

 

“Maybe another time,” Stiles suggested.

 

She nodded, laughing. She reached for his hands, circling her finger in the palm of his hand, unable to believe this entire situation.

 

“What I’m trying to get at is,” she continued, “I realised that the only reason I think of Beacon Hills as my home is because … _you’re_ here. Stiles, it’s always been you. You’ve always been there for me, saving me. _You’re_ my home.”

 

“Lydia,” Stiles said, “I’m going to need you to say it. _Actually_ say it.”

 

“I love you too,” she told him, grinning at him. “I’ve always loved you too. It just took me a long time to realise — too long. Think about how much time we’ve wasted. We could have been together years ago.”

 

“We’d better not waste any more time, then,” he said.

 

And so Stiles didn’t wait another second. He kissed her, his lips finding hers even in the dim holding cell, and his hand snaked around to the back of her neck, pulling her closer to him.

 

She ran her fingers through his hair, like she’d wanted to do for so long. She clutched onto him as his lips pressed against hers with a sense of urgency, his plaid shirt soft and comforting underneath her fingertips.

 

He never wanted to let her go again and she never wanted to _be_ let go of again. And there was no way he would. Nothing on _earth_ would make him stop kissing Lydia Martin’s perfect lips —

 

Someone clearing their throat interrupted them and Lydia hastily pulled away from him, tapping Stiles’s shoulder urgently as she smiled as casually as possible at Sheriff Stilinski. Stiles groaned audibly and she couldn’t resist laughing a little; his lips were red from kissing, his hair messy from where she’d been running her fingers through it.

 

“Um, kids, if you could pull yourselves apart for a few seconds,” Noah said. “Scott called. Lydia, you’re free to go. Sorry for the formality.”

 

Lydia got to her feet and brushed down her dress, trying to retain some of the dignity she was sure she’d lost for making out with Stiles in the Sheriff’s station. Stiles got to his feet too, slipping his hand in hers, catching her by surprise. She smiled up at him.

 

“Thanks, Sheriff,” she said on her way past him, her tone only slightly sarcastic. After all, he may have released her, but he _had_ been the one to lock her up in the first place.

 

“Thanks, Pops,” Stiles said. “Although, surely you knew Lydia was telling the truth. She wouldn’t steal Scott’s car.”

 

“Believe me, I know,” Noah answered. “But it seemed like the two of you needed to be put in a room together with no way out, so Scott came up with this little plan. He said, oddly, that you’d requested it, Lydia?”

 

Lydia laughed, smiling embarrassedly at Stiles as she recalled the conversation she’d had with Scott what felt like years ago now, but was only earlier that day.

 

“I asked Scott if there was any way he could lock us up into a room with maximum security for enough time for us to actually _talk._ I didn’t expect _this_ though.”

 

“ _Scott_ did this?” Stiles asked, his eyes widening. “He orchestrated all of this? But how did he know that Lydia would call me?”

 

Noah shrugged. “Just a hunch, I guess. That, or he knows both of you as well as you know yourselves.”

 

“I guess we owe him a thank you,” Stiles said, looking at Lydia. “We should go find him.”

 

“Really? You’re thinking about Scott now? Right now?”

 

“You’re right. There’s other things we could be doing before we find Scott …” Stiles began to tug her away from Noah.

 

“So, you two are finally a thing,” The Sheriff smiled. “I’m glad you kids finally figured it out. It’s about damn time, son. I was beginning to think you’d never have the guts to do something about your feelings for Lydia.”

 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Pops.”

 

“Well, what’s your plan?” the Sheriff asked. “You live across the country to each other.”

 

Lydia shrugged. “We’ve got time to talk about that.”

 

“Yes,” Stiles agreed, “because timely conversations are our strength. It only took us twelve years to tell each other how we feel.”

 

“We’ve got time,” Lydia said to him, kissing his cheek. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”


	15. 30 seconds before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s it! I love a flash-forward, so I hope you liked this last chapter, which hopefully just rounded everything off. I hope you enjoyed reading it and thank you for all of your lovely comments and Kudos so far! Please leave me comments if you enjoyed it as I LOVE reading them. Thanks again! ❤️

Lydia felt her heart beating inside her chest as she took her mother’s arm. She was pretty sure that all of the werewolves and various other supernatural creatures in the room in front of them would be able to tune into her heartbeat and realise how nervous she was, but she supposed that was to be expected.

 

Natalie Martin squeezed her hand. “Are you ready, honey?”

 

Lydia nodded, but she could barely get a word out as they stepped up to the double doors. The man standing beside the door opened it, revealing the aisle. It really did look beautiful and Lydia wished she had more time to take it all in, but the only thing she could focus on was the man standing at the other end, waiting for her.

 

He looked handsome — more handsome than she’d ever seen him — with his tuxedo, his bow tie a little crooked, but what had she expected? His hair had been combed, and his hands were joined in front of him as he looked down the aisle at her.

 

She vaguely noticed that everyone was standing up, watching her walk with her mother, and she tried to look around to take in the moment and the faces. She smiled at Derek and Cora Hale, and nodded at Ethan as she passed him. She raised her eyebrows at Deaton and the lady he’d brought along with him — she’d have to interrogate him on that later — and grinned at Kira and Malia, who had already reached the altar just ahead of her, carrying their bouquets and smiling at her.

 

Her mother stopped at the top of the aisle and Lydia murmured a thank-you, kissing her cheek.

 

“You look beautiful, honey,” Natalie whispered, squeezing her arm one last time before ducking out of the way and joining the rest of Lydia’s family on the front pew.

 

The only thing left for Lydia to do was to join Stiles, and he reached out a hand to her. She accepted it, passing her bouquet over to Malia, and smiled at her fiancé, soon to be husband.

 

“Hi,” she whispered.

 

“Imagine seeing you here,” Stiles whispered back.

 

Lydia rolled her eyes. “I _begged_ you not to open with a joke, Stiles.”

 

“I know, but I panicked,” he whispered, smiling. “You look ... phenomenal.”

 

The pastor cleared his throat, eyeing them over the rim of his glasses. “Please, you can all be seated.”

 

The congregation sat down, and Stiles took Lydia’s hands in his. The pastor began introducing the event and talking about how love was the most important thing that humans had been given the ability to do and feel, but Lydia tuned out. She knew that she wasn’t supposed to tune out on her own wedding day, but all she could think about was the man standing in front of her and the journey they had gone through to get there. To be getting _married._

 

In particular, she thought about the last three years. Three years ago, she had been sitting in that police holding cell feeling sorry for herself for apparently having stolen a car. Of course, it had turned out to all be a plan cooked up by Scott, who had been sick of listening to her and Stiles talk about each other constantly but never talk _to_ each other.

 

Everybody always assumed Scott had been acting selflessly, fixing up his best friends whom he knew loved each other, but Lydia suspected he’d come up with the plan to give himself a break.

 

Regardless, it had been successful.

 

Three years ago, almost to the day, she’d told Stiles that she’d loved him.

 

Lydia felt like the saying “and she’d never looked back” was cliche and stupid, but in this case, she _really_ hadn’t looked back.

 

They’d stayed in Beacon Hills for another few weeks, getting themselves organised and allowing themselves time to just be with each other. It was slightly strange at first, adjusting to being a couple, but Stiles made it easy. He made it feel almost normal quickly, and soon she didn’t feel freaked out when she woke up in the middle of the night and realised that her best friend was sleeping next to her, shirtless.

 

Now, she would just look at him, remember that he was  _hers_ , and she would move closer to him.

 

Despite the smooth transition, Lydia and Stiles had both known they had much to discuss. The subject Noah had brought up on the day they’d admitted their feelings for each other — the mere fact that they lived 2,500 miles away from each other — had been at the back of Lydia’s mind the entire time, but she hadn’t wanted to jinx the incredible thing they had going by being the realistic one.

 

After the few weeks in Beacon Hills, living a dreamy life where nothing in the real world seemed to matter, Lydia knew she couldn’t continue much longer. So, hesitantly, she’d approached the topic of their living situation with Stiles.

 

As it turned out, it was easy.

 

She’d decided that she was done with New York — as Elliot had told her, it had never really been her _home_ — and she offered to move to San Francisco to live with Stiles. But Stiles had decided that he was done with San Francisco, and so they were at a loss.

 

In the end, sitting in Stiles’s childhood bedroom, they’d realised that they didn’t _want_ to leave Beacon Hills. They decided that Beacon Hills was the only place that had ever truly felt like home.

 

The day that they moved into their first house together had been incredibly stressful, especially since Stiles had been interviewing for a job at the Sheriff’s station — as the lead Detective — on the day of their move. He’d got the job, come straight to the new house with a pizza, and they’d sat on the floor with pizza and a bottle of wine. They had no other furniture, but Lydia still insisted it was their best night in the house.

 

Shortly after Stiles’s success with the Sheriff’s station, Lydia got a job just outside Beacon Hills at a research centre. They’d been looking for a mathematician for months. She was exactly what they’d been looking for.

 

Their house started to take shape around them, becoming more like a home everyday, and one night after he’d finished work, Stiles brought home a pizza and a bottle of wine. Just like their first night in. They’d set up a picnic blanket on the floor and cleared all the furniture out of the way.

 

Stiles had asked Lydia to grab some napkins from the kitchen — he’d got some on his way home, but had accidentally left them in there — but when she returned, napkins in hand, he was kneeling on the picnic blanket with a ring box in his hand.

 

First, she’d screamed.

 

Then, she’d cried _Yes!_ and launched herself at him, knocking him right over. He hadn’t even had time to ask the question. They’d had to clean a wine stain off the hardwood floor, but whenever Lydia looked at that slightly darkened floorboard, then at the ring on her finger, she’d smiled. It was worth it.

 

Now, here they were. On their wedding day. She felt like she’d been waiting a lifetime for it.

 

Stiles and Lydia had both wanted something low-key, so they’d ended up with a church wedding and about thirty guests. Lydia had spent _months_ planning the wedding, with just as much precision and detail as she had planned Noah and Melissa’s, but, standing in front of Stiles, she hadn’t taken any of it in.

 

As they said I do and Stiles slipped the wedding ring onto her finger, Lydia realised that she didn’t _care_ about the rest of it; the most important part was standing right in front of her.

 

___________________________________

 

 

Stiles cleared his throat and stood up from his chair, smiling nervously out at the small crowd in front of him.

 

“Hi, everybody. Thanks for coming today,” he said, nodding. “We really appreciate it and we know that it’s been a long time coming, so thank you to those who waited fifteen years. Looking at you, Scott.”

 

Scott held up his glass in response.

 

“So, three years ago, I stood up at a wedding just like this. It was my father’s wedding and I was kind of … annoyed about the whole thing. See, I loved a girl, but she was at the wedding with somebody else. I gave a speech that night and when I finished it, my best friend Scott told me that it had been about this girl. I denied it vehemently. At the time, I didn’t know that I loved her, so I thought it was completely stupid that a speech about love could be about her.

 

“It was only a few days after that when I realised I _did_ love her, and I somehow managed to gather the courage to tell her. The truth is, I think I’d loved her from the day I met her; I’d just spent a lot of time and energy trying to ignore it and trying to get on with my life just being her friend. I watched her date other guys, I watched her get engaged to another guy, but I waited. I kept on waiting.

 

“And at my dad and Melissa’s wedding, I was _still_ waiting for her. I was still just friends with her. And I actually remember some of the speech that I gave, so I’d like to share some of it with you now, except I did tweak some of so it I wouldn’t be _totally_ plagiarising myself.”

 

Stiles cleared his throat, looking down at Lydia, who stared up at him with tearful, happy eyes.

 

“Lydia, we’ve been best friends for as long as I can remember now. I can’t remember a time when we didn’t hang out constantly and just … make each other laugh. Wednesday night patrols, hanging out in that field and looking up at the stars. You taught me about all the constellations and then the next week when I’d forgotten them, you taught me again. You taught me about the meaning of the stars and, of course, the scientific side. And over the years, our relationship has developed from being two friends, hanging out on that field, to … being here today, marrying each other. Not only have I just married the best person I know, but I’ve married my best friend.”

 

Stiles paused, then glanced at Scott.

 

“Sorry Scott,” he said.

 

Scott laughed. “No problem, man.”

 

Stiles continued, turning back to face Lydia. “I’ve married the person that I can go to about anything. The person I trust more than anyone. Even three years down the line, I still think that’s the luckiest thing that can happen to you. The luckiest thing to find. When the person that you’re in love with is also the person you want to hang out with, the one you _want_ to patrol the town with at 2 a.m., the person you _want_ to teach you about the stars for seven consecutive weeks … that’s all you need. That’s what _everybody_ wants. Falling in love with your best friend … There’s no greater feeling. I think that when you like someone, like spending time with them, just like _being_ with them, it’s as important as loving them.”

 

Stiles raised his glass.

 

“Lydia,” he concluded. “I like you as much as I love you. Here’s to you. Thank you for making me the luckiest man on earth. I love you so much.”

 

As the guests cheered and whistled — some of the guests of the human species seemed a little confused by the Wednesday night patrol comments — Lydia got to her feet and threw her arms around her husband.

 

“I like you as much as I love you too,” she said, just to him. “You’ve always saved me. In more ways than I can tell you.”

 

Stiles smiled at her, kissing her forehead. “We saved each other. That’s just what we do.”

 

And they both knew it to be true.

 

No matter what they went through, they would get through it together.

 

After all, they had very little choice. Neither of them truly believed in fate or destiny, but something had to be said about the way that they were continually brought together. It was like the universe _wanted_ it to happen. It was like the universe had decided that they were soulmates.

 

And who were they to argue with that?

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think in the comments and by giving Kudos :)


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